Two Old Fools in Spain Again (25 page)

We waited for news of our passports and hoped that the UK Passport Office would find our applications satisfactory. If it did, we’d soon be on our way to Australia.

Christmas passed without incident and Joe and I were presented with hand-knitted hats by Marcia. Neither of us ever wore hats but we were touched by the thought.

We also received a phone call from Karly in Australia.

29. Winter

Lamb Steaks with Almonds and Paprika

“M
erry Christmas, Mum!”

“Merry Christmas! How has your day been?”

“Lovely, we had a
brilliant
day. We
love
the new house and I cooked Christmas dinner for twelve! Cam’s parents and grandparents came and it was really good. Indy was spoilt rotten of course.”

“Oh, good! So how do you like having Christmas in midsummer?”

“Well, I’m pretty used to Aussie Christmases now. Doesn’t feel that strange anymore. We’ve filled the swimming pool and we use it every day. Are you still coming over, do you think? Escape your winter and enjoy our summer? Time’s running out now.”

“Well, I don’t know… Our passports still haven’t arrived. We’ve been watching the news and the weather in the UK has been awful. Terrible floods, worst on record. What with Christmas and trains and planes being cancelled by bad weather, who knows when we’ll get our passports? All we can do is wait.”

Christmas

Joe had gone out shopping and I was on my own when somebody knocked on the door. I knew who it was because I had seen him passing the window. It was Pancho the mayor.

My mind raced.
No way
was I letting him in, especially as Joe wasn’t there to protect me from his unwelcome attentions.

Lightning fast, I grabbed my jacket and Marcia’s woolly hat. Pulling them on, I opened the door.

“Beaky, I…”

“Oh hello, Pancho!” I said breathlessly and slammed the front door behind me. “I’m so sorry but I’m in a tearing hurry. I can’t stop, I’m late for a very important appointment.”

I pushed past him and jogged down the street, leaving him gaping after me.

Where to go? Joe had taken the car so there was no point unlocking the garage. I scooted round the corner and up the next street. I had the house keys in my hand. My aim was to re-enter the house through the seldom-used upstairs door that opened onto that street. Swiftly, I unlocked it and let myself in.

Panting, I waited to catch my breath. I didn’t immediately go downstairs because Pancho might still be lurking outside. I wouldn’t put it past him to make an effort to peer through the high living-room window.

Thank goodness, I heard Joe returning and it sounded as though he was alone. I went downstairs.

“Oh, I wondered where you were,” said Joe. “Why were you upstairs in the flat? And why are you wearing outdoor clothes?”

I explained about Pancho knocking on the door and my cunning escape.

“Quick thinking,” said Joe. “but why Marcia’s hat?”

“I just wanted it to look as though I was going out.”

“Look in the mirror,” said Joe, beginning to laugh.

“Why?”

“Just look.”

Puzzled, I did so. The woolly hat looked ridiculous, but that wasn’t the reason Joe was laughing. Because we had been on our own that Christmas, I had pinned cardboard reindeer antlers to both our hats and we had worn them all day, making each other laugh every time we caught sight of them. I hadn’t removed the antlers. No wonder Pancho had gaped at me.

“I have a question,” said Joe when he’d stopped laughing. “Why didn’t you just
not
answer the door when Pancho knocked and pretend nobody was in?”

“Oh,” I said, “I never thought of that.”

It was an uncomfortable feeling being without our passports. We felt trapped without them and wondered what we would do in the event of an emergency. It had been over a month since we applied for them and we had even paid extra to have them delivered by courier.

I couldn’t stop worrying. The chance of their arriving in time for us to make our trip to Australia was becoming slimmer. Had we filled out the forms correctly? Were our photographs acceptable? Had the passports been lost in the Christmas mail? Had they been destroyed in the terrible floods that the UK had recently suffered from?

“Even if they do arrive now,” said Joe, “we’ve spent so much on house renovations recently, it might be best to wait until next winter and go to Australia then.”

I was deeply disappointed, but Joe was right. I sighed.

“Yes, I suppose that’s sensible. We could go over for the whole of next winter, perhaps.”

One cold but sunny morning, we heard a commotion in the village. There were shouts and a large engine revving.

“What’s going on?” asked Joe.

“I’ve no idea,” I said, shaking my head. “Perhaps it’s work going on at the cemetery? Excavations? Levelling the ground or something?”

Curious, we went outside to investigate. No, the commotion wasn’t coming from the cemetery. We headed for what sounded like the source of the noise, which was coming from the direction of the square. The problem was soon obvious.

El Hoyo’s streets are extremely narrow and the corners are all sharp right angles. Cars negotiated them with difficulty. Only pedestrians, Uncle Felix’s mule and motorcycles sailed around them with ease.

A massive yellow lorry had tried to negotiate a corner and was stuck. The driver was standing beside the truck, scratching his head. Being January, there weren’t many villagers around, but those that were had congregated at the scene.

Geronimo was gesticulating, pointing this way and that and shouting suggestions over the noise of the engine. Paco was there, firing off alternative suggestions, thumping the side of the enormous truck with his fist. Even ancient Marcia had left her shop and was leaning on her walking stick, shaking her head and muttering
madre mía
at regular intervals. Geronimo’s three dogs barked with excitement, while Yukky cocked his leg enthusiastically on the truck’s yellow paintwork. Only Uncle Felix stood back, leaning on his mule for support, his gnarled hand holding her rope halter. The mule stood quietly, occasionally shuffling her hooves.

The truck blocked the street entirely; it was going to take a lot of manoeuvring to get out of this jam. The driver climbed back into his cab and Paco, Geronimo and Joe took up their stations, shouting, waving and beckoning to the driver who leant out of the cab window, following their instructions. With much crunching of gears and squealing of brakes, the truck inched forward and back, forward and back, then reversed slowly back to the square.

The driver jumped out and all the men clapped each other on the back. Success. The truck’s paintwork had been scraped only a little, leaving a telltale yellow stripe on a house wall. It could have been much worse. Geronimo drew a bottle of beer from his pocket and took a celebratory swig.

It was only then that I really noticed the writing on the side of the truck. ‘DHL’.

The driver looked at his watch. “Does anyone know Señor and Señora Twead?” he asked.

All eyes turned to Joe and me.

“That’s us,” I squeaked.

The driver unlocked the enormous doors at the rear of his truck, revealing stacks of boxes and parcels ready to be delivered. He climbed in and disappeared into the dark, cavernous depths. We heard rummaging, then he reappeared clutching two small envelopes.

“For you,” he said. “Please sign for them here.”

I took the pen and signed, my face red. A truck the size of a house and all that fuss to deliver two small envelopes to us?

Back at home, we tore the envelopes open, but we already knew what they contained. In spite of Christmas, British floods and El Hoyo’s tight corners, our passports had safely arrived, if rather dramatically…

The building of the cemetery extension was coming along well. We watched with interest as excavators and diggers arrived to gouge out the rocks and level the ground. The surrounding walls were built up and painted white. Gravel had been laid. The old entrance to the cemetery was taken down and a huge new one was built, with a paved path leading to it from the street. As yet unfinished, the entrance was just a gap, awaiting the arrival of the gates.

From our perch on the roof terrace, we watched a flatbed truck arrive with the gates strapped on. Then the mayor swept up in his car, swiftly followed by the three Alejandros in their flashy Mercedes.

Eight workmen lifted the gates from the truck and laid them on the ground. They carefully lifted them again and slotted them into place. It was not an easy task as the gates must have been nine feet high and were clearly very heavy. Then they tore off the protective covering, revealing the new entrance in all its glory.

“Bravo!” shouted Alejandro Junior and clapped his hands as his father, grandfather and Pancho stood back to admire the gates.

“Good gracious,” said Joe. “Talk about a statement!”

Joe had a point. Even from our terrace we could read the inscription. Set into the elaborate design were the gilded words,
El Hoyo
and beneath,
El Cementerio de Rodríguez
. But the gates were magnificent. Painted glossy black, the wrought ironwork was a mass of intricate, sweeping curlicues.

“Have you seen the new cemetery gates?” Paco asked us that weekend.

“Yes,” we said, “they are very handsome. Are all the villagers pleased with them?”

“
¡Claro!
On Andalucía Day El Hoyo will celebrate. At four o’clock, the mayor will give a speech and Alejandro will cut a ribbon and declare the new cemetery open. Then we will all walk up to the shrine for hot chocolate and
churros
.”

And so it was.

On Andalucía Day,
everybody
turned up. A large crowd surrounded Pancho as he delivered his speech and all eyes were on Alejandro Senior as he cut the ribbon with a flourish and declared the cemetery open. The gates swung open and everybody cheered and clapped.

Then, united and chattering, the villagers swung round and began to walk up the steep path to the little shrine at the top of the mountain. The children and dogs galloped ahead while the adults straggled behind in knots. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, wishing I wasn’t so unfit. Even the very elderly folk were climbing faster than I was.

“
Tía
Veeky,” piped a little voice and a small hand touched my arm. “Can we come and help you do some baking soon?”

I stopped, glad to catch my breath and looked down at two identical upturned faces.