Authors: Victoria Hislop
Tags: #British - Spain, #Psychological Fiction, #Family, #British, #Spain - History - Civil War; 1936-1939 - Social Aspects, #General, #Granada (Spain), #Historical, #War & Military, #Families, #Fiction, #Spain
The Return (10 page)
‘Sonia,’ she gushed, ‘where have you been?’
‘Just having a wander,’ replied Sonia. ‘I did leave you a note.’
‘Yes, I saw it. I just wasn’t sure when you’d be back.’
‘I’m going up to grab my shoes,’ Sonia said through the narrow gap between the closing doors of the lift.
In the claustrophobic box of the lift, she began to feel slightly faint and realised she should have had something to eat. In the glow of sepia light, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall. Compared with the vision of Maggie’s bright face, she felt hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked. Half-moons of darkness hung like eclipses below her eyes and her hair looked mousy with grease. She acknowledged to herself that it did not matter to her what she looked like, but she knew she would still feel the age-old pangs of resentment when men cast admiring glances at Maggie and she became her invisible friend. Having spent years practising this role, it was an all-too-familiar feeling.
Back in their room, she swiftly brushed her hair, defined her eyes with kohl pencil and smeared on some lip gloss. In the descending lift, her spirits lifted slightly as she observed the improvement.
Soon they were outside in the street and the two women propelled each other along, both equally excited by the prospect of their dance lesson.
Sonia’s enthusiasm for the lesson waned after only twenty minutes, and the harsh brass sound of the salsa band, slightly distorted by the CD player, began to grate. She was as stiff as one of the shop dummies she had noticed earlier in the day. Engaging her mind to absorb instructions, she counted out the beats like a child, repeating and holding the numbers in her head.
Felipe spotted her furrowed brow and tense arms. ‘
Señora
,’ he reprimanded. ‘Not like that. Please. More relaxed.’
Señora
,’ he reprimanded. ‘Not like that. Please. More relaxed.’
She felt chastened. It was a sin to be unrelaxed here and to think, rather than feel. She was not sure she could do it any differently today.
It was a relief when the lesson finished at five o’clock sharp.
‘I’m so bad at this,’ she said under her breath, as she fiddled with a buckle, eventually pulling off her shoes without undoing them and aiming them furiously at her bag, which lay a few feet away.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Maggie. ‘You’re just having a bad day. You’re coming out with me tonight.You’ll never improve otherwise, which was the whole point of coming here.’
‘Was that the point?’ asked Sonia grumpily, as they emerged from the building. ‘I can’t really remember.’
‘And for my birthday.’
‘Maggie! I’m so sorry. It’s today! Happy Birthday! God! How awful of me, I’d completely forgotten which day it was. I’m really, really sorry.’ She threw her arms around her friend and there in the sunny street hugged her with bone-crushing affection.
‘Don’t worry,’ smiled Maggie. ‘I do understand, honestly I do. You’ve got things on your mind, but the biggest favour you can do yourself is to try and think beyond them.You should let yourself go a bit more.’
Normally Sonia might have allowed her irritation at Maggie’s instruction to show, but not today. It was Maggie’s birthday.
‘Yes. You’re probably right,’ she said.
‘So will you come dancing tonight?’
‘Of course I will. Is there somewhere particular you want to go?’
‘There’s a place quite near the dance school. It’s really friendly and very unintimidating.You’ll love it.’
Just before midnight, Sonia found herself ducking to enter a low stone archway and descending a narrow staircase into a dimly lit basement. There was a small bar at one end, with a row of stools in front of it and the two couples who were dancing were enjoying the luxury of having the whole dance floor to themselves. At this stage of the evening, the flamboyance of their twists and turns was almost acrobatic.
Sonia soon saw the reason for her old friend’s insistence that they should come here. Hardly had they reached the foot of the stairway, when a handsome, stocky, figure emerged from the shadows near the bar and made his way towards them. Above the conversation-stifling noise of the music, Maggie introduced Paco, and although the three of them mimed frantically, little was communicated. The problem was not so much the relentlessly thudding beat as much as Paco’s lack of English and theirs of Spanish. He did however show an attentiveness towards Sonia that allowed her to appreciate his charm, buying drinks for both women until, with a gesture of apology, he eventually led Maggie away to the dance floor. Sonia could see his appeal. Though she towered over him, there was something alluringly sexual about Maggie’s new man.
Sonia watched, mesmerised by the way in which Paco’s hand spread against the small of Maggie’s back like a star, as he guided her firmly about the floor with deft, understated moves. She was perched on a stool, a glass of cold beer in her hand, and a strong sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her. How many times had she watched from the sidelines as Maggie danced? It happened when they were fourteen and it was still happening more than twenty years on.
No one was a spectator for long - the collective enthusiasm for dance meant that everyone was going to be involved. The club was now filling up and soon Sonia was approached. There was no question of saying no, even had she wanted to.
She recognised the music. It was one of the tracks that they had danced to that afternoon and the familiarity of its rhythm gave her confidence. It was neither too slow, nor too fast. The five minutes that followed were intimate, energetic, enlivening and physical. Almost immediately she felt the welcome synchronicity between mind and body as her feet began to move without instruction. It was as though the invisible ropes that kept her anchored to the ground had been severed. On the final beat of the music, the encounter was over.The dance was an end in itself. All she noticed was that her partner took her through the steps as if he had danced for his whole life. It was as natural to him as breathing.
On her third or fourth dance, each one with a new stranger, Sonia began to feel less inhibited. She was no longer telling her feet which way to point and her mind no longer counted a beat. She had experienced a fleeting sense of what this might be like once before, watching the Cuban instructors back in London and seeing the expression on their faces that showed they were dancing with their souls not their minds. Sonia recalled the way in which the hairs on her neck had stood on end. Now she knew what that felt like. The enchantment of dance had buried itself deep inside her.
Between dances, she had gravitated back towards the bar. Occasionally, Maggie and Paco stepped off the dance floor and came to find her. Maggie glistened. Her white shirt, luminous in the fluorescent lighting, was transparent with perspiration and tiny droplets beaded her hairline like a tiara.
‘Are you OK, Sonia?’ she asked. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Yes. I’m having a great time,’ she responded, and there was no edge to her answer.
She had no idea at what hour her head finally sank into her pillow. It was another sleepless night but not, this time, because she was anxious about Maggie, whose bed in the twin room remained empty. Tonight, it was the endorphins coursing through her body that kept her spinning round till sunrise.
Chapter Six
NOT LONG BEFORE midday, Sonia turned the taps to ‘cool’ and gasped as the water sputtered from the showerhead, covering her in waves of shocking iciness. It was what she needed to feel fully awake and with the day. Her next thought was for coffee and for that there was only one destination. She slipped out of the lobby, knowing that she would be too late anyway for the paltry hotel breakfast of shrink-wrapped, long-life croissant, whose only chance of being brought to life was to be dipped into the weak coffee.
By some kind of homing instinct she retraced her route to the pretty square where she had been the previous day. It was not just the excellence of his
café con leche
that drew her back but the sense that some of her conversations with the kind waiter were yet to be concluded. It was chilly and none of the other tables outside was occupied when she arrived, so she went inside. For more than five minutes, she sat there and no one came. Her sense of disappointment was out of proportion to the situation. There were plenty of other cafés close by that would serve decent coffee, she told herself.
café con leche
that drew her back but the sense that some of her conversations with the kind waiter were yet to be concluded. It was chilly and none of the other tables outside was occupied when she arrived, so she went inside. For more than five minutes, she sat there and no one came. Her sense of disappointment was out of proportion to the situation. There were plenty of other cafés close by that would serve decent coffee, she told herself.
While she was waiting, she took the time to observe that the busier the café, the more it seemed to attract additional customers. She was about to follow the trend and take her custom elsewhere when she heard a friendly voice behind her.
‘
Buenos días, Señora.
’
Buenos días, Señora.
’
She turned.There was the café owner, smiling, evidently pleased to see her.
‘I thought you must be closed.’
‘No, no. I’m sorry, I was on the telephone.What can I bring you?’
‘
Café con leche, por favor.
And something to eat? A pastry?’
Café con leche, por favor.
And something to eat? A pastry?’
Some minutes later, both arrived.
‘You had a late night?’ commented the man. ‘If it’s not rude to say it, you look very tired.’
Sonia smiled. She enjoyed the café proprietor’s honesty and knew she must look terrible, with smudges of yesterday’s mascara and all the other signs of sleep deprivation.
‘Was it a good night?’
‘Yes, it was,’ she replied, smiling. ‘I went dancing.’
‘You liked that? You found some
duende
, perhaps?’
duende
, perhaps?’
Sonia was unfamiliar with the word. It sounded rather like ‘duet’, so perhaps he was asking if she had found a partner. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, her thoughts turned to James. How would he have liked it here? Would he have appreciated the jaded décor of the dance school? The relentless exertion of the dancing lessons? The decibel level in the nightclub? The answer to all of these questions was ‘no’. Perhaps he might have enjoyed the grandeur of the architecture, she thought as she glanced at the upper storeys of the strong, rather magnificent buildings that comprised even this unimportant square. A spark of guilt passed through her when she realised that she had not even thought to ring James, but, on the other hand, he had not rung her either. He would be frantically involved in some deal at the bank, she was fairly certain of that, and would not be missing her.
‘I had a fantastic time,’ she answered simply. ‘
Fantástico
.’
Fantástico
.’
‘
Bueno, bueno
,’ he said, as though he got some personal satisfaction from the fact that his customer had had a good night out. ‘People will always dance. Even when we were living under a tyrannical regime, people continued to dance. For many of us, the priests had destroyed our religion, but many people simply had another one ready-made. Dancing became a new religion for a few people, a way of rebelling.’
Bueno, bueno
,’ he said, as though he got some personal satisfaction from the fact that his customer had had a good night out. ‘People will always dance. Even when we were living under a tyrannical regime, people continued to dance. For many of us, the priests had destroyed our religion, but many people simply had another one ready-made. Dancing became a new religion for a few people, a way of rebelling.’
‘It was for dance classes that I came here, really,’ said Sonia. ‘I just enjoy it, but I don’t really see it becoming my religion,’ she added, laughing.
‘No, I don’t suppose it will. But things are different today. Granada is full of dance now and people do it freely.’
As on the previous day, the café owner seemed to have more time on his hands than customers to fill it, though Sonia could imagine that in the high season this would not be the case. She was in no hurry either, and this smiling elderly Spaniard clearly wanted to make conversation with her.
‘Do you dance?’ asked Sonia.
‘Me? No,’ he replied.
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