This time, though, she’d balked when Carys had suggested the cable-car. ‘You’ll not catch me dangling in a box hanging from a few wires! View or no view. Even if you said I could see flipping Timbuktu from up there!’ She’d jabbed a finger towards the top of the Rock, clear of the Levante cloud that had been topping it like a fuzzy grey wig the day before.
‘You can’t see Timbuktu, Mum. But you don’t mind if I go up on my own?’ Carys had asked. ‘I’d rather do that than get a taxi.’
Her mother had hesitated. ‘You do what you need to do, cariad. I’ll meet you back at the hotel later. But here, wait –’ she’d thrust a bottle of water and some crisps at her – ‘keep drinking plenty. And make sure you eat. I know what you’re like.’
Finally, after what seemed an age, the cable-car glided into the Top Station and Carys climbed out, along with the other sightseers who had been confined with her. Deciding not to get a guide, Carys headed straight for the viewing terraces.
At first glance, every spot up here seemed busy. It was such a dazzlingly clear day compared to yesterday, everyone must have had the same idea. The views would be amazing. From what she could see over the tops of people’s heads, they were.
Carys’ throat was parched, though. She needed water. The bottle in her bag would be lukewarm by now, but she didn’t care. Just a sip, to wet her tongue. She could buy herself an ice-cold drink in the café later.
Her backpack at her feet, Carys rummaged through it. The crisp packet rustled loudly as she pushed it to one side to get to her water. Carys straightened up and was about to open her bottle, when she couldn’t feel her backpack resting against her ankles. She glanced down. A jolt of panic fizzed through her. The bag had vanished. She looked up, panic swirling as she spun on the spot, searching for the thief.
And then Carys spied the bag, a few feet away in a quiet spot, although her sun-poached brain took a few moments to make sense of what she was seeing. Bent over the backpack were three large, grey monkeys. Barbary macaques – ‘Rock Apes’ – that Gibraltar was so famous for. They were picking through her bag like Fagin’s boys in Oliver Twist.
Without thinking, Carys headed towards them. Immediately, one turned and hissed, baring sharp teeth. Carys stopped short. Tourists were already clumping together to form a circle, as if it were a street act. Someone started filming with his phone. Carys dimly registered how it might go viral on YouTube. She’d be a celeb back in Gwynedd, for all the wrong reasons.
The Barbary macaques were ripping open the packet of Kettle Chips now and tucking right in.
Carys scanned the human faces around her for one sympathetic soul she might appeal to, but no one seemed willing to risk getting bitten for her sake.
One of the Rock Apes was rifling through her backpack again, scattering the contents across the cement. Carys’ shopping fell out – the beautifully embroidered white shawl, and the grubby Arabian-style lamp she’d bought for her mum, after parting with her in Main Street. A surprise for the woman who collected brass lamps like other women collected handbags.
The Barbary macaque picked up the lamp, peering at it with all the intensity of an antique dealer, rubbing it as if trying to work out what it might be worth with a bit of a polish.
Around her, Carys could hear laughter and clicking cameras, but the blood was rushing in her ears as she saw another Rock Ape fish out the charm bracelet she’d reluctantly taken off earlier. It had been catching on the new crochet shrug she’d slipped over her bare shoulders to ward off the sun. Carys rarely took her jewellery off, except to sleep, shower and do the washing-up.
Carys took a step closer, growing more desperate. The Rock Ape made a cackling sound and leapt backwards towards the railing, the bracelet still dangling from its spindly thumb.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Carys was murmuring, ‘Nice monkey… over here… that’s it…’ when the Barbary macaque suddenly leapt over the edge, taking her bracelet with it.
Carys wailed and ran to the railing, staring over the side. There was a group of Rock Apes on a ledge further down. She couldn’t tell which one was the thief. They all looked the same. There was no sign of her bracelet anywhere. Carys scanned the rocky cliff edge for a glint of silver, a flash of metal… but there was nothing.
The veneer she had so carefully constructed around herself these past months was now so thin it was virtually transparent.
Joe was gone. The bracelet he had given her – gone now, too. All those pretty silver charms, a new one every birthday, each one more meaningful than the last… vanished from sight. As if neither of them, the bracelet nor Joe, had ever existed. As if they had simply been figments of her imagination, and she had no right to stand here mourning them.
‘Are you all right?’ a voice asked, assured yet sincere. And male.
Carys blinked, straightened up, poked her chin in the air as she turned round.
He was an Adonis, as her mum would have said. Even beaten down and in shock, Carys reacted to him as any woman might, taking in his rich brown, wavy hair and his equally dark eyes, like varnished mahogany. His tan wasn’t orange and fake, but mellow and genuine, like his voice as he passed her the backpack.
‘I think this is yours. Everything’s inside it again – except the food. You can check for yourself.’
He had an accent, like many of the locals, but his English was impeccable. Possibly in his mid-twenties, the same age as Carys, he wore denim cut-offs and a sunflower-yellow shirt and seemed to tower over her, even though she was hardly petite.
Carys found she could only nod. Her stupid body had started to shake; not as a reaction to the stranger, but to the loss of so much she had held dear. This is no place for a breakdown, the last sane scrap of her mind was pleading, but she couldn’t stop the flow of pain now. It seemed to want to assault her from all directions.
‘You’re in shock,’ the stranger diagnosed, his concern mounting. ‘Come with me, you need a drink...’ Gently, he led her away from the edge.
In an almost catatonic state, Carys allowed him to steer her into the café. It was busy, but somehow the stranger found a small table by a window and installed her in a chair.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he said firmly. ‘Stay here, you shouldn’t be alone right now.’
Even though there was a queue, he returned amazingly quickly. Carys had been staring out of the window, seeing nothing but Joe, grinning at her lopsidedly as she opened a satin-lined gift-box and found a bracelet lying inside, with a single heart charm to start off her collection.
‘I’m Xavier,’ said the stranger, taking a seat opposite Carys and sliding a cup of tea towards her. In front of him on the table was a foamy coffee.
‘Carys,’ she croaked. ‘And I owe you money for this…’
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s only tea. With sugar. Good for shock. And you don’t owe me anything, I just want to help. You’re on your own up here. Like me. We need to stick together.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘Now drink, Carys.’
‘I don’t…’ she hesitated, dragging her hair back off her face. ‘I’m not… available.’
Pathetic. Even in her misery, she was mortified. Who said stuff like that? Who was she to presume that someone as gorgeous as Xavier would have intentions like that about her, especially considering the state she was in?
He smiled softly. ‘You’re very lovely, Carys, but I’m not “hitting on you”, as they say.’
‘So you’re just a Good Samaritan?’
‘We’re not extinct. Why so sceptical?’
Carys didn’t reply. She turned to stare out of the window again.
She had drunk every drop of tea as if it were nectar, before she remembered all those warnings about accepting drinks from strangers. Could tea be spiked as easily as alcohol, or would you taste it? Somehow, though, she felt safer right now than she had at any point since landing in Gibraltar. Could a drug do that to you?
The silence that stretched between them wasn’t strained
or awkward. Xavier didn’t push for conversation. He seemed content to drink his coffee and watch the world go by. At least Carys had stopped shaking by the time she decided she should go, should return to her mum and the hotel.
‘You haven’t seen the views properly.’ Xavier frowned, when she told him she had to catch the cable-car back down.
‘I can see them another time,’ she mumbled, heaving herself to her feet.
‘You might not come back again. This could be your only chance.’
Joe was my only chance, thought Carys obstinately. My only stab at happiness.
‘Let me show you my favourite view, at least,’ Xavier coaxed. ‘It’s all I ask in return for the tea. A small price, don’t you think?’
‘So you did have an ulterior motive?’
He seemed happy that she’d shown a spark of defiance. ‘I know this part of the world well. I just like sharing it with someone who doesn’t,’ he said.
Carys squinted as they emerged into the bright sunlight again. Although the tea had steadied her, she still felt rubbery as Xavier took her hand and led her through the crowd.
How had he even known she was alone, anyway? Because no one had come to her aid when the monkeys had been torturing her? What if her companion had been in the loo? Or the gift shop? Or… somewhere else, other than at her side where Joe used to be.
Carys extracted her hand from Xavier’s, and wrapped her fingers around the straps of her backpack. He made no comment, merely leaned against a railing and pointed across the shimmering Straits towards the bumpy ridge of land on the opposite side.
‘Africa,’ he said, and somehow made the word sound incredibly thrilling. Like David Attenborough on TV. ‘A whole other continent in front of you, Carys. So many lands you can’t see from here, exotic, unfamiliar, but they exist, and if you try hard enough, you can imagine them. Can’t you?’
When he put it like that, Carys could feel a trickle of awe in her stomach. She might not be an intrepid explorer, but she couldn’t help but be moved, even a tiny bit. The excitement wasn’t enough to reach her lips, though; never destined to ignite a smile. Instead, there was a burning pain in the back of her throat, where the tears were accumulating.
She gulped them down, even as she wondered where they went if they weren’t shed. ‘Go on then, tell me how I’m standing on one of the Pillars of Hercules. Wow me with your tales of myths and legends and underground tunnels to Morocco. That’s the sort of stuff I like.’
Xavier blinked at her. ‘Hercules was strong, but I could hold him in an arm-lock any day.’
She stared at him. He looked so serious, Carys felt the laughter erupt out of her in a nervous snort.
‘That’s better.’ Xavier turned to stare out over the Straits, the warm waters of the Mediterranean to their left. ‘You’re stronger than you think, Carys. If you can climb a mountain on your own, you can face anything. It’s clear you’re going to have to, for the sake of another.’
‘I didn’t climb it,’ Carys retorted. ‘I came up in a cable-car.’
Xavier turned to her again. ‘I wasn’t talking about the Rock.’
‘Oh…’
‘You have family here? Is that why you’re so far from home?’ The sunlight glistened on his forearms as he folded them over his broad chest.
‘I came with my mum.’ Carys hesitated. ‘But I have family here. Sort of. Well, not mine. Technically, they are, in a way, but… it’s complicated,’ she tailed off.
‘Not as complicated as mine.’ Xavier grinned. ‘Though this isn’t my story, it’s yours – so tell it to me.’
There was no logical reason why she should tell him anything, except that he had asked. Yet Joe used to joke it was easier to have heard of someone in Gibraltar, no matter how densely populated it was, than to not have heard of them. It was a long-shot, but maybe Xavier might know who she was talking about.
‘My husband was called Joseph Moreno,’ she said, and paused to take a deep breath. ‘He was from Gib. We met at university, in Aberystwyth. When he graduated, he decided not to come back here. It didn’t go down well with his family.’
Xavier’s brow hooded his eyes as he squinted in the bright sunlight, but it made him look more concerned. ‘I see.’
‘Well, when I say family, I mean his older sister, Rosa. She more or less raised him after their parents died. There was an old aunt, who I guess was their official guardian, but she didn’t do much. She’s dead now, too.’
‘Too?’ said Xavier perceptively. ‘You’re not just talking about Joseph and Rosa’s parents – are you?’
‘My husband was knocked off his bike and killed four months ago.’ Carys spoke the words on auto-pilot. ‘I guess Rosa might blame me for that, as well.’
‘What else does she blame you for, Carys?’ Xavier prompted, his voice soft.
‘Stealing her brother away. But, you know,’ Carys hurried on, in her own defence, ‘I would have lived anywhere Joe wanted. It wasn’t my fault. He just fell in love with Wales. Our village is on the edge of Snowdonia. It’s beautiful. Joe was hooked on the mountains and the lakes and the sense of space. We bought a little cottage and renovated it.’
‘But Rosa couldn’t be happy for him?’
‘They fell out.’
The details weren’t important, Carys realised. She could go round and round in circles trying to figure out who was most to blame for the rift. Brother or sister.
‘Rosa wouldn’t even come over for the wedding, said she was too busy with her own family. She has three kids. Fair enough, I thought, there was the cost involved, too. But Joe was furious. I only wanted a tiny wedding, anyway. But then she wouldn’t come for the funeral. It was my mother who organised it. Made all the calls… But Rosa hung up on her.’ Carys let out a ragged sigh. ‘I know Rosa must have been heartbroken. I can’t believe she’s made of stone.’
‘So you’ve come to Gibraltar to find her. To make peace with her. You think Joseph will be at rest that way.’
‘I know –’ Carys rubbed her brow, the hot sun was starting to make her head pound – ‘I must be mad. I have her address, if she hasn’t moved. It was still among Joe’s contacts. Her married name’s Garcia, she hasn’t been a Moreno in years. I keep putting it off, though.’
Carys looked at Xavier, as if waiting for a flash of recognition, but there was nothing. He didn’t know Rosa Garcia or her family. She straightened up, took a step back, knowing this time she truly had to go. ‘Listen – Xavier – it was nice to meet you. Really. And thank you – for everything. But I need to get back to my mum at the hotel. You’ve been so kind…’
‘You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I do.’
‘What, go around rescuing helpless tourists?’
He smiled enigmatically. ‘I’ll walk you to the cable-car.’
‘You’re hanging around up here then?’
‘Not for long. But I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you, Carys. You can manage well enough on your own. As I said, you’re stronger than you think.’
She smiled back, albeit weakly. Joe would have liked him. He would have called him a good bloke.
The ride down was smoother. The height-thing no longer bothered her so much. There was a calmness within her that hadn’t been there on the way up, in spite of everything that had happened in the last hour. As if that simple cup of tea had contained a secret serenity potion, and Xavier had been more than just the kindest – and fittest – of strangers.
*
Carys and her mum ventured further afield for dinner that night to one of the restaurants along Marina Bay. But for once, Carys didn’t have to be nagged to eat. While Mum was more adventurous and tried calamari, Carys stuck to her favourite. You could rarely go wrong with pasta.
‘It’s a shame about your bracelet,’ Mum sighed, over dessert. She reached across the table and stroked Carys’ bare wrist. ‘I know how much you loved it, cariad…’ Her tight ginger perm, as bright as Little Orphan Annie’s, quivered as she sho
ok her head.
Carys shrugged, an outward gesture designed to reassure herself as well as her mother. It was best not to think about it. Joe had given her other presents over the years. She still had those. The bracelet wasn’t the best gift of all.
Carys leaned back in the chair, rubbing her stomach. She was sated and sleepy. The sound of the water lapping against the boats in their berths across the way was lulling her even more.
A woman came into view.
Why this particular lady caught her attention from the outset, Carys didn’t know, except that she stood out somehow. From their vantage point under the canopy at the front of the restaurant, Carys and her mum had been people-watching all evening.
The woman seemed wary as she approached the restaurant. Her face was very pale, as if blanched, and her dark, crimped hair fluttered around it like a parted curtain. There was something familiar about her…
‘Oh, crap,’ muttered Carys, with a shudder of recognition.
Her mother frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s her!’ Carys gawped. ‘It’s Rosa, I recognise her from her photos. She looks so much like Joe…’ She put a hand to her mouth.
The woman stopped in front of the restaurant, her gaze scanning the tables. Then she spotted them. Her own mouth opened slowly, as she seemed to recognise Carys in return.
Trembling, Carys stood up, abstractedly brushing down the creases in her sundress. The woman’s gaze flicked over her. And then, without preamble, she strode over to Carys and wrapped her arms around her. Her tears soaked Carys’ shoulder before Carys could even react. Then Rosa pulled back, smearing the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, over and over, like a mantra, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…’
‘Here.’ Mum pulled out a chair and gestured to Rosa. ‘And you, too, Carys, love. Sit down. You’ve both had a shock.’
Rosa pulled tissues out of her voluminous handbag. Then she extracted her phone, swiped at it a couple of times then pushed it across the table towards Carys. ‘Did you send this?’ Her voice shook.
Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1) Page 4
