Two Old Fools in Spain Again (22 page)

“What we need,” I told Joe, “is two kettles. Then we can use one while the other is being cleaned.”

The drive down the mountain was wonderful at that time of year. Crimson poppies nodded in the breeze and the grass and trees were lush with new growth. Silvery streams gurgled and meandered their way downhill after the recent rainfall. A snake slithered across the road in front of us and a green-headed, foot-long lizard watched us pass.

Like Carmen, Spanish people don’t use electric kettles much, so there wasn’t a great deal of choice, but we bought another kettle, identical to our first, then finished our shopping. Back at home, I removed the new kettle from its box, rinsed it and plugged it in ready for use.

Twin kettles

“You make the coffee and I’ll finish putting the shopping away,” I said.

Soon we were sitting at the kitchen table, coffee mugs and a slice each of almond cake in front of us. Joe took a big slurp of coffee. To my astonishment, his eyes bulged, then he spat it out, drenching me, the table and our almond cake.

“WHAT THE?” he spluttered, sprinting to the sink and rinsing out his mouth.

I gaped at him, then sniffed my coffee.

“Which kettle did you use?” I asked, mopping coffee off myself and the table.

“The one you’d already filled with water.”

“I didn’t fill the kettle,” I said. “The old one had the vinegar and water solution in it… You didn’t use that one, did you?”

Of course he had.

I highly recommend white wine vinegar for removing limescale, but please, not for coffee…

We had to wait until May before the news flew around the village. Pancho the mayor had another announcement to make.

“It has to be about the cemetery,” I said to Joe excitedly.

“Well, we’ll soon find out,” he said.

26. Sorting Things Out

Stuffed Tomatoes

“H
ello, Alice, nice to hear your voice. How are you?”

“Oh, not too bad. Getting old, of course. How is your family?”

“Oh, very well. Looking forward to my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter coming over to visit us here in Spain later this year.”

“Good! I called because I remembered something more about your grandmother, Anna.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes. Your grandmother, my aunt Anna, loved dogs, as I’ve already told you.”

“Yes.”

“When I was a little girl, I badly wanted a dog but my mother wouldn’t allow me. Aunt Anna came to stay and said to my mother, ‘For goodness’ sake, let the child have a dog,’ but my mother refused. When Anna left and went home, we received a telegram.”

“What did it say?”

Alice chuckled, remembering what had happened a lifetime ago.

“It was addressed to my mother and said,
Urgent. Box arriving for Alice on the 6.00pm train. Please collect.
”

“Gosh!”

“I was so excited! At six o’clock my mother and I went to meet the train and were directed to a crate. Inside was a dachshund puppy. Well, of course, my mother wasn’t pleased at all, but I loved it and my mother loved it, too, in the end. Your grandmother was a very kind woman.”

In May, I was thrilled to little pieces when
Two Old Fools on a Camel
hit the New York Times bestseller list. But I was just as excited to hear what announcement Pancho the mayor was going to make at the meeting he had called.

Overhead, the sun was beginning its descent and the sky stretched blue and vast as the villagers gathered in the square. Somehow the atmosphere was different. Alejandro Senior and his crowd stood tall and proud, as though they knew something the others didn’t. Paco’s side of the square looked curious, apprehensive.

The mayor approached the wooden box that Geronimo had placed for him. He stepped up and the two distinct groups of villagers fell silent.

“Good evening,” he said. “Today I come with good news for El Hoyo. Señor Alejandro Fernández Rodríguez has generously agreed that his land may be used for an extension to the cemetery. The land will remain legally in the hands of the Rodríguez family but the village has been given permission to use it indefinitely.”

The crowd buzzed. Alejandro Senior stood with his arms folded, beaming benevolently.

“And that is not all,” continued the mayor, holding his hand up for silence again. “I have another announcement. Señor Alejandro Fernández Rodríguez has also generously agreed to pay for the work himself, out of his own pocket. His team will draw the plans and take care of all the construction.”

“Bravo! Bravo mi amigo!”
shouted Paco, breaking the stunned silence and strode across the square to his old friend, clapping him on the back and pumping his hand.

As though Paco’s shout was a signal, the village square became a mass of cheering, handshaking, hugging and kissing as families merged and congratulated each other and Alejandro Senior. Dogs barked. Geronimo took a huge swig of beer from his bottle and Marcia allowed herself a little smile. I saw Alejandro Junior make a beeline for Sofía and they stood, arms wrapped around each other, Sofía’s head resting on his shoulder as the crowd seethed around them.

“Perfect!” I said to Joe. “The perfect solution! Alejandro Senior gets to keep his land, but lends it to the village. I wonder how Mother pulled that one off?”

“We’ll have to ask her,” he said, smiling.

So we did. We popped over to the next village, a few nice bottles of celebratory red in our hands and knocked on Judith and Mother’s door.

“Come in, m’dears!” said Judith. “So you’ve heard the news? Top-hole, isn’t it? Mother and I are sitting outside. Let’s open those bottles and have a little drinky-poo.”

The evening was still warm as the sun went down and stars began to pop out. When the dogs had calmed down sufficiently for us to talk, I asked the burning question.

“Mother, how on
earth
did you manage to change Alejandro Senior’s mind? We’ve heard he can be very stubborn.”

Mother smiled to herself and sipped from her glass, taking her time.

“I’ll tell ’em!” said Judith. “You appealed to the silly old man’s vanity, didn’t you, Mother?”

Mother nodded and blew a smoke ring into the night air.

“Mother suggested he keep the land in his name, but let the village use it. Well, the old codger wouldn’t agree to that at first. So Mother said, what about if he had the extension built himself so he could control it and designed some big fancy gates with his family name worked into them.”

Mother smiled.

“He liked that,” she whispered.

“Mother, that was inspired!” I said admiringly.

“Brilliant!” said Joe, then pulled a face. “I just hope in future generations that his family don’t claim the land back. They’d have to dig up all the deceased and move them.”

“Well, it’s all sorted for the foreseeable future,” I said. “A job well done, Mother! Thank you.”

As a million stars flickered above us, we raised our glasses and drank a toast to Mother, Alejandro Senior, future generations and the new cemetery.

With our Australian family’s visit drawing ever closer, Joe and I tried to spruce up the house a little. Naturally this was yet another opportunity for a domestic disaster.

I guess it was all my fault because there was nothing really wrong with our toilet seat. It was just old and I wanted a new one. Joe agreed. Although it was perfectly serviceable, we’d had it for nine years since we’d first built the bathroom back in 2004 when we moved to Spain.

The next time we went down the mountain, we visited our local DIY store. We headed straight for the bathroom section and gazed with awe at the dazzling display of toilet seats fixed to the wall. Such choice! Transparent ones, coloured ones, ones with seashells, zebra-print ones … even one that glowed in the dark.

“Just a plain one, I think,” I said at last.

Joe agreed and we picked out a handsome, black, wooden seat and carried it to the checkout. It cost 35 euros, which seemed rather a lot, but it was a good quality seat, heavy and polished.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?” I asked Joe.

“Of course it will! Toilet seats have universal fixings. I’ll fit it as soon as we get home.”

True to his word, he removed the old toilet seat and attached the new one. He was right, the fixings were correct. At first sight, the seat looked good. It wasn’t exactly the right shape, but only an obsessive toilet inspector would have noticed. Joe hurled the old seat, plus the packaging of the new one, into the village dumpster.

It was only after Joe had tested it that we discovered a fault. The seat and lid had a habit of slamming down without warning, especially during mid-flow, which he found most disconcerting. He put up with it for a few days, but after a few near-misses, he decided it had to go. The seat was threatening to inflict permanent anatomical damage.

“I’m going down the mountain to get another one,” he said, “and this time I’m going to get the right shape.”

“Don’t you want to take some measurements?”

“No, I know now that we need a D-shaped one. Don’t worry, I’ll recognise the right thing when I see it.”

He returned with a plain white seat, even more expensive than the black one. In case we needed to take it back, we unwrapped it carefully, tearing open the plastic wrappings but keeping the box intact. Joe tried it for size. Perfect.

He removed the black one, then howled with dismay. The new, white seat was the right size and shape, but the
fittings
were completely wrong.

Luckily, we’d kept the receipt and the box, so Joe repacked it and went back down the mountain. When he came back, he was empty-handed and shaking his head.

“It all went wrong,” he said. “They wouldn’t give me my money back because it was missing the inside plastic coverings. I just left it there, it’s no good to us. And they didn’t have any others that would fit our toilet, so we’re stuck with the evil black one.”

All in all, if one included the cost of petrol plus the price of the useless second purchase, we had spent nearly 100 euros on our new toilet seat.

There are times when I am very glad I am female.

“Mum, we were thinking that it might be nice to invite Luciano out to Spain at the same time as when we are there.”

Luc (pronounced Looch) was one of my daughter’s greatest friends from university. I’d met him for the first time at Karly and Cam’s wedding in Australia. He’d travelled out from the UK and formed an important part of the bridal party as her ‘bridesman’. Not to be outdone, Cam also had his old friend Hayley as a ‘groomsmaid’.

At the time, bride, groom and many of the bridal party stayed in a house on the outskirts of Sydney, which had been rented for the wedding. Space had been scarce, so my niece Becky and I shared the bottom tier of a bunk bed, while Luc slept above us. Such intimacy in our living and sleeping arrangements meant we got to know each other well and I was delighted at Karly’s suggestion that Luc should visit us in Spain.

Luc was duly invited and he accepted immediately. He had a passion for driving, so instead of flying straight into Almería airport, he decided to hire a car and drive from Málaga. It would be a trip of many hours, but a good opportunity to see something of Spain and compare it with his native Sicily.

Preparations were now in full swing and I was so excited to be seeing the little family again. Ten months had slipped by since I’d last seen Indy and I knew she would be a very different little person from the baby I’d left behind in Melbourne. Those ten months of separation had been hard, but eased a little by the daily photos winging their way from Australia to El Hoyo. They showed Indy smiling, then crawling, then standing. I could not wait to cuddle her again.

We borrowed a highchair from a friend in the next village. We already had a stroller, a paddling pool and a travel cot.

When I’d finished cleaning the rooms, I fetched the cot and opened the box. It all came out in one piece and as
Simple Assembly, No Tools Needed
was written in big letters on the side of the box, I imagined erecting it would be a piece of
bizcocho
(cake).

It came out of the box as a single unit. Releasing a few clips, I was soon gazing at what looked like a disjointed tripod. I pulled. I pushed. I searched for hidden switches, buttons or levers. I turned it upside down and tried again. And then I admitted defeat.

“Joe! Come and give me a hand. I can’t get this wretched travel cot up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Joe, coming into the room. “Look, it says,
Simple Assembly, No Tools Needed
on the side. Here, give it to me, this’ll take seconds.”

I pushed it over to him and watched, arms folded, toe tapping, eyebrows raised. He pulled. He pushed. He searched for hidden switches, buttons or levers. He turned it upside down and tried again.

He’s going to blame the design now,
I thought to myself.

“There’s obviously a design fault,” he said, scratching himself before he abandoned me.