Two Old Fools in Spain Again (21 page)

The biggest problem with banded centipedes is that they like the same kind of environment as humans do. When the weather turns colder, they often enter houses and their favourite place to hang out is the bedroom. Not on the bedroom walls, or under the nightstands, or dark corners. No, Mediterranean banded centipedes love to snuggle in our beds. Reports show that they are often found under pillows or nestling under the duvet. Be warned. When disturbed, they will bite. Hard.

At long last we heard that the legal team had finally delivered their verdict concerning the ownership of the cemetery. The news spread as fast as the wildfire on the mountain.

“Come to the square at six o’clock,” said Marcia when we popped into the shop to collect our mail. “The mayor is going to make an announcement.”

25. News and a Plan

Spanish Almond Cake

“I’
m keeping my fingers crossed that the council legally owns that land,” I said to Joe for the thousandth time. We were making our way down to the square, as were other villagers.

“We’ll see,” said Joe.

It was a Friday night and the square was already busy. Marcia sat in her shop doorway, her knitting needles clacking, the black cat sprawled under her chair. Uncle Felix and Geronimo sat on the stone bench, Geronimo’s three dogs panting at their feet.

People chattered in groups, but it was clear that they had divided themselves and the atmosphere was more subdued than usual. Paco, Carmen and all their friends and relations stood on one side of the square while Alejandro’s friends and family gathered on the other. Sofía stood near her parents, silent and pale. On the other side, Alejandro Junior stood a little apart from his parents, face expressionless, eyes staring down at his shoes.

“Let’s stay here with Marcia,” I muttered to Joe. “I don’t want to be seen to be taking sides.”

We waited and watched.

A car appeared high above us on the opposite side of the valley and began its descent into the village. It took five minutes or so to navigate down the twisting road, frequently disappearing from sight as trees briefly hid it from view. Every pair of eyes in the square was fixed on the vehicle, even Marcia’s, although the clicking of her knitting needles never lost its rhythm. The car belonged to Pancho, the mayor and the air was thick with anticipation.

“We have the legal results,” he said, holding up a sheaf of papers. “I am here to announce that is has been ruled that the strip of land that runs along the cemetery from east to west…”

Pancho paused and one could have heard a pin drop as all present held their breaths.

“There is no doubt that this land belongs to the family of Señor Alejandro…”

The remainder of his sentence was drowned out as Alejandro Senior’s side of the square erupted. Younger members punched the air in triumph. Shock etched the faces of the other villagers. Marcia tutted, shook her head and stilled her knitting, her hands gnarled fists in her lap.

“Oh no,” I said to Joe, “that’s not good news.”

I saw Sofía and Alejandro Junior steal the briefest of glances at each other, their eyes speaking volumes.

“There must be some mistake!” shouted someone.

“No mistake,” bellowed Alejandro Senior. “I told you all, that land belongs to me and my family!”

The mayor climbed down from his box; there was nothing more to say. I imagined it was the shortest speech he had ever delivered. He made his way back through the crowd, ignoring the questions and protests hurled at him, climbed back into his car and drove out of the village.

The crowd soon dispersed, either to celebrate or to drown their sorrows, depending on which side they belonged. Joe and I walked home, absorbing the news. The only good thing about the meeting was that Pancho hadn’t noticed me and had been too preoccupied to pester me for English lessons.

“There must be something that can be done,” I protested. “It’s a ridiculous situation. I hate the thought of Alejandro and Paco falling out. They’ve been friends for decades.”

“All their lives, I think.”

“Yes and it’s affecting both families as well. And what about poor Sofía and Alejandro Junior? It’s so unfair to them.”

“Stop worrying, there’s nothing we can do.”

But I couldn’t stop worrying and I felt sure there must be a solution. I fretted for a week, annoying Joe by constantly resurrecting the subject. And then it came to me. I had an idea.

We were on the roof terrace watching the sun go to bed and had yet again watched Sofía and Alejandro Junior keep a tryst in the copse. These clandestine meetings had become a regular occurrence, which both saddened and infuriated me.

“Joe, listen, I have an idea that might help.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Stop trying to interfere! This is village politics and there’s nothing we can do.”

“Just listen,” I said.

I explained my plan. Joe was quiet for a moment, then nodded his head reluctantly.

“Yes, that might just work…” he said at last.

The next day I began to put my plan into action.

I dialled Judith’s number and waited for her to pick up her phone.

“Judith, are you at home this morning? We thought we’d pop round and see you,” I shouted, trying to be heard above the baying of her hounds.

“Jolly good show, Vicky!” she yelled. “Sinbad, get DOWN! Tyson, if you don’t leave Fluffy alone, I’m taking you to the vet, be warned!”

“Good, we’ll see you in about half an hour,” I yelled.

“Bring some eggs with you, m’dear. They’re so fresh and tasty.”

Sitting around Judith’s kitchen table was always an experience. Getting to it was the first hurdle, forcing one’s way through dogs and cats and stepping over food bowls. I patted one dog on the head while another offered me his paw. Two more were running round the table and the rest were barking, either at us or each other.

“DOGS!” bellowed Judith. “OUT!”

She opened the kitchen door and the pack careered outside, leaving us in peace. I sat back, noticing cats sleeping on various shelves. One black cat was curled up on the cooker, another had draped itself across a stack of cookbooks.

“How many dogs do you have now?” I asked Judith.

“Still only nine, m’dear,” she chuckled. “Remember I always said I’d never have ten?”

“We remember,” I said. “But then you adopted Half and then Invisible and then Ghost…”

“Exactly, so we only have nine and a Half, one that’s Invisible and a Ghost…”

“And?”

“Well, m’dear, I caught a blasted farmer trying to drown this one.”

She pointed to a basket in the corner that I hadn’t noticed. A very young puppy squirmed on a blanket.

“Ah. So you rescued it and now you have ten?”

“Good lord, no! This one’s called Undog, so he doesn’t count,” she chuckled. “So we still have only nine dogs.”

Joe and I smiled.

“Ah, Joe, Victoria!” breathed Mother, drifting into the kitchen.

Joe and I rose and kissed her cheek. I caught the scent of Chanel Nº5, which always accompanied her. She wore a pink, silky wraparound robe and could have stepped out of the pages of a film star magazine of the fifties. Tiny matching heeled slippers adorned her feet.

“I’m rather a late riser, I’m afraid,” murmured Mother, joining us at the table.

“That’s because you were out half the ruddy night!” exclaimed Judith, laughing and poured her a cup of tea. “Now, where did your fancy man take you last night? Restaurant? Dancing?”

Mother smiled to herself and sipped her tea. Joe and I exchanged glances. Mother was the reason we had made this visit. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to broach the subject. I would have to bide my time.

For a while we chatted about this and that. Judith and Mother knew everybody in our village and asked after them by name.

“Our neighbours, Paco and Carmen, are very well,” I said, in answer to Judith’s question. “Their dog, Bianca, is managing perfectly well with three legs. It’s their daughter, Sofía, who worries us.”

“Why?” asked Judith. “What’s wrong with the gal?”

At last, my opportunity had arrived. I waded in.

“Well, you know the problem with the strip of land by the cemetery?”

Judith nodded. Mother lit a herbal cigarette and placed it in a holder.

“Yes, that land belongs to Alejandro,” said Judith. “He knew it belonged to him and his family all the time.”

Mother blew smoke into the air.

“Yes, but Paco has forbidden Sofía and Alejandro Junior to see each other until Alejandro Senior gives the land to the village or something. Sofía and Alejandro Junior are devastated. I’ve never seen Sofía look so miserable.”

“Frightful bloody shame!” said Judith. “Mother, can’t you have a word in your fancy man’s shell-like ear? You know he listens to you!”

This was going
exactly
as I had planned. I sat tight. Mother blew a smoke ring high into the air, then lowered her false eyelashes to study her crimson painted fingernails.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said at last.

Back in the car, Joe and I headed home and discussed it further.

“Well, there’s nothing else for it,” I said, “except to hope that Mother has some influence over Alejandro Senior. If she can’t persuade him, then I think that’s the end of the story.”

“Yes, we’ll just have to wait and see. But no more interfering.”

I promised.

As winter departed and gave way to spring, record keepers told us that it had been the driest winter in our region in living memory. The rivers and streams hadn’t filled up as they usually did and the farmers’ water storage tanks were low. Parts of Spain braced themselves for a serious water shortage.

With clear blue skies and scorching sun, we were fooled into thinking summer had arrived. I packed away our winter clothes.

Then came a patch of bad weather. Temperatures dropped, strong winds blew up and the clouds piled over the mountains in fifty shades of grey. Out came the winter clothes again and Joe lit the fire as the rain hammered down as though making up for lost time. The farmers studied the sky with smiles on their faces, pleased that their tanks were filling up again.

Where water is concerned, people in our part of Andalucía are very fortunate. We never suffered from a water shortage as natural springs were plentiful. At the entrance of El Hoyo was a spring where locals filled their water containers. It was also the source of water for the entire village. In the next village was another spring, still surrounded by cement basins and washboards, where villagers once washed their laundry and exchanged news and views. Water flowed freely from both springs, day and night.

Outdoor laundry

When we lived in southern England, our water was extremely hard and our pipes and kettles regularly clogged up with chalk. Moving to Spain, I looked forward to living in an area with natural water. I imagined that spring water, straight from the mountain, would be as close to perfection as possible. But it seemed I was mistaken. Mountain water might be clear, pure and untainted, but, unfortunately, it is not quite perfect.

The water around El Hoyo, although natural, was even harder than that in southern England. In fact it was the hardest, most chalk-filled water I had ever encountered. Our kettle became lined with a film of white limescale after only a few boilings. We knew it was harmless, but the water was cloudy and the heating element struggled against the caked chalk. I asked Carmen how she managed but she didn’t own a kettle so she wasn’t much help.

To combat the problem, I tried limescale remover, which I bought from the supermarket. It worked well enough, but it needed several hours to take effect and getting rid of the nasty smell was difficult. Neither Joe nor I wanted to wait around for our cups of coffee and we didn’t enjoy coffee smelling of chemicals.

I searched the Internet and discovered that a mixture of white wine vinegar and water works very well. As a bonus, it was cheaper and much less smelly. The kettle still needed to stand for a couple of hours, to allow the vinegar to do its work, but the vinegar was a big improvement on the disgusting, expensive shop-bought limescale remover.