The next few days pass in a blur. Gabriela comes home, exhausted and radiant, bearing her baby daughter. Little Isabella is tiny and perfect and spreads a tornado of dirty laundry and nappy-changing paraphernalia throughout Casa Hamaca and its facilities.
I do what I can to help, trailing behind Ray and Gabriela to pick up dropped cardigans and socks and empty overflowing nappy bins. They’re too sleep-deprived and besotted even to really notice I’m there, let alone ask me about Harry or how long I want to stay, and that suits me just fine. I have my own plans to be getting on with.
The hotel and bar remain closed. Ray pulls the blinds down and sticks a scribbled sign in the front window saying simply ‘closed until Independence Day’. Its apocalyptic undertone makes me laugh, and Ray sleepily explains that each city in Ecuador has its own independence date, rather than a big, all-American, fourth-of-July-style national day. The Ecuadorians clawed back their independence from Spanish rule gradually, city by city, liberating themselves one piece at a time. Something about that makes me smile, and realise I have more in common with Ecuador than I had ever imagined.
Quito’s very own Independence Day is next Friday, and through the shuttered windows I glimpse the world outside already coming to life and transforming itself into a sea of banners, bunting and balloons in the royal blue and true red and of the city’s flag.
The local tourist population is outraged at the sudden closure of one of its main drinking spots at this important time. After an unshaven, semi-deranged Ray has already shouted at several hopeful punters to ‘bugger off’ from a top window, I take charge of public relations, fielding enquiries from impatient tourists waiting outside the front door, phoning reception, and, in the case of one particularly ambitious Australian backpacker, bum-sliding down the back wall and knocking expectantly on the kitchen window.
We remain inside, under siege, each of the three of us gradually coming to terms with our new reality.
To anyone on the outside it may look like we are hiding. But I, in fact, am using this precious time out from the world, this suspended reality, to do something very important. Several things, actually. Every possible moment not spent answering enquiries or cleaning up in the wake of Ray and Gabriela’s sudden launch into parenthood, I spend on the computer. The desk in my little room at the back of the hotel soon becomes a colourful medley of scribbled notes and lists, maps and leaflets, wedged in among and underneath empty coffee cups and uneaten sandwiches. Somewhere at the back of my mind I know this level of disorder is very unlike me, and at some point I’ll have to clean it up – but right now I’m on too much of a mission to care. Everything else can wait.
Only when, on about day two or three, the poor ancient laptop borrowed from Gabi exhaustedly splutters up a message telling me ‘tab limit reached’ and grinds to a standstill completely do I sit back for a moment, stretching, and allow myself to feel satisfied with what I have achieved. Now it is just a case of waiting.
At that moment there is a knock and Ray appears, bleary-eyed, in the doorway. He looks momentarily horrified at the chaos surrounding him, with me sat, grinning, in its midst.
‘Er…’ His eyes flick to me, then to the overflowing desk, then back to me again. Then he shrugs. ‘Liza and Marion are here. You should come down.’
I take a few moments to make myself look as presentable as possible in the circumstances, acknowledging that I really must shower this afternoon whatever happens. Then I trot downstairs after him.
Liza, Marion, Ray and Gabriela are sitting around the big dining table in the restaurant kitchen, which is piled high with Tupperware containers of food and a big knitted bag overflowing with baby clothes.
Everyone stops talking abruptly as I appear in the doorway, and four faces turn to look at me in unison, smiling exaggeratedly.
‘Kirsty!’ Marion exclaims, her voice strangely high. ‘How lovely to see you. You’re looking… well.’
‘Er… hi.’ I make my way around the table, greeting them in turn with the usual cheek-kiss, and making appreciative noises at the containers of lasagne, tortillas, roast chicken and empanadas filling the table.
‘We wanted to stop by and bring you something to eat,’ says Liza sternly. ‘As heaven knows what you’ve all been living on for the last week since Isabella arrived.’
It’s been a WEEK?
I realise with a vague sense of surprise that I haven’t seen or heard from Harry since he disappeared from this very room, at my request, seven days ago. And I haven’t minded that, either.
‘Shall we get the kettle on, then?’ Marion turns to Liza, still speaking with the strange, over-cheery tone she had used to greet me. ‘These two look like they could do with a cup of tea.’ She indicates Ray and Gabriela.
Liza nods and starts bustling about with cups and saucers, while Marion doesn’t budge, still staring at me. ‘Now, how about we go out for a nice walk, hey, Kirsty? Get some fresh air? Would you like that?’
I notice her exchange a subtle glance with Gabriela, and suddenly realise what is going on.
‘Thanks, Marion, but actually I’m fine here just having a cup of—’ I start to sit down at the table beside Ray.
‘It’s perfectly normal, you know,’ Marion suddenly blurts, reaching out to take my hand in hers, and squeeze it tightly. Another exchanged glance with Gabriela, then Liza. ‘When I first lost my John, I spent days at a time just sitting indoors playing Gem Buster Royale online. Signed up to international tournaments and everything. I got quite addicted. Only afterwards my bereavement therapist told me it was quite a natural reaction – a coping mechanism – and all part of the grieving process.’
‘And a relationship ending is a grieving process in its own way,’ Liza declares, reaching over and plonking a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of me. ‘But the important thing to remember, Kristie, is that you’re not alone in this.’ She stands behind Marion with her arms folded, as if daring me to contradict her. ‘We are all here for you and we are going to help you get over it.’
In the end, I humour them. I sit back helplessly and let Liza serve me an enormous plate of lasagne, refusing to allow me or Gabriela to leave the table until we have each finished our food, Marion bustling off to change little Isabella’s nappy when she wakes up in the next room. It seems easier this way than trying to explain to them how I am really feeling, to try to voice the emotions I haven’t even fully registered myself yet… the realisation that, actually, I am fine. More than fine.
At the back of my mind I know I will have to return to England and face Harry again at some point, to begin the systematic disentanglement of our lives – cancelling the standing orders, un-jointing the joint account, selling the house… an unappealing but necessary task, like putting the bins out. I also know that the time will come, in my not-so-distant future, when all that will be over and there will be nothing but a blank page of opportunity before me. Maybe, at some point, Harry and I will even be friends. But right now, as impossible as it is for me to explain to Liza, Marion and the others, all that is the last thing on my mind.
Half an hour later, when we are all sitting in contented silence, full of lasagne, and Marion has brought a clean and changed Isabella in to rest in Gabriela’s arms, Marion’s phone rings. She turns away to take the call, her face breaking into a smile.
‘Well, of course! Yes, come on by.’ She flicks a glance at me. ‘Yes, she’s here. Yes, I’m sure she would. Okay, see you shortly.’
She turns to beam at me. ‘Kirsty, someone is on their way who I think you would love to see. Someone who I know will not fail to cheer you up.’
For a fleeting, hopeful second, I think of Sebastian.
But the person who comes bursting through the kitchen door less than five minutes later in a clatter of high heels is none other than Naomi.
Her presence fills the room in a way I remember from the prison. As she flings herself at Gabriela in an enthusiastic hug, squealing in delight at the tiny Isabella, I find myself mesmerised by her energy. She seems even more vibrant and vivid out here in the real world, like in certain black-and-white films where one character is suddenly transformed into Technicolour. As she hugs everyone in turn then comes over to me, I find myself squeezing her back just as tightly and exclaiming absurdly, ‘But what are you still doing here!’
‘My flight’s tomorrow.’ Naomi’s smile is radiant, contagious, winning over her whole face.
‘And your dad…?’
‘Hanging on. I spoke to him today… well, sort of. He’s in and out of consciousness, but…’ She stops and takes a breath, collecting herself. ‘I’m literally going straight from Heathrow to the hospice once I get there.’ Something in her face changes and her eyes well up with tears. ‘Mum and the kids are meeting me at the airport. I’m physically ITCHING to see them, you can’t even imagine…’
‘It’s so amazing that your paperwork has all been sorted so quickly,’ Gabriela exclaims. ‘Only a week after your hearing… mine took longer than that, and I wasn’t even leaving the country.’
‘I know, I’ve been so lucky. I think Sebastian has really pushed hard with the authorities to get me home quickly,’ Naomi beams. ‘Kirsty, are you okay?’
I realise my mouth is actually hanging open in astonishment. I turn to stare at Gabriela, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. Memories flash before my eyes, suddenly making sense – the crumpled note Naomi had handed me inside the prison to give to her, and Marion’s reluctance to explain the relationship between the two women when I had asked her.
Gabriela looks back at me levelly, a slow smile spreading across her face. ‘You’ve only just figured it out, haven’t you?’ Her smile widens and warms at my blank expression. ‘I was in the prison. With Naomi. Well, I was there when she first arrived. You could say I took her under my wing.’
I’m stunned into silence for a few moments, unable to reconcile the dainty young woman sitting opposite me, wearing a Minnie Mouse nightie and holding her newborn daughter, with… a criminal?
‘Your face!’ Gabi giggles. ‘Is it that hard to believe?’
I think back to my visits to the prison, remembering my first experience of Naomi and her uncomplicated warmth, middle-aged Marta and her well-spoken, dignified politeness, lively Ariana working hard in the bakery and teasing Naomi in her thick Italian accent.
‘No, actually… I suppose it’s not.’
‘We’re going to get going,’ Marion whispers, squeezing my arm and reaching over to hug Naomi and Gabriela in turn. ‘Leave you girls to chat. We’ll pop back tomorrow – I daresay we’ll all be going to see Naomi off at the airport, right?’ She glances sternly at Liza, who has been listening to the last five minutes of conversation with delight, and shows no signs of leaving. ‘Come on, Liza. Let’s leave them to it. Bye, Ray.’
Ray, who has momentarily fallen asleep in his seat at the table, head lolling against his chest, jerks awake with a start and pushes his chair back. ‘Oh, yes, er, right – I’ll see you out. Then I’d better start getting things ready for reopening.’ He rubs his eyes and hauls himself to his feet.
‘Make sure you eat!’ Liza orders by way of goodbye, indicating the pile of Tupperware containers on the table. ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow.’
Once they’ve finally left, Gabriela, Naomi and I sit in silence for a moment. I think of the irony of it, three women of about the same age, each standing at the beginning of a whole new chapter. And Isabella, of course, who has miraculously remained asleep throughout everything. I turn to Gabriela, desperate to hear the rest of her story.
‘Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to be shocked when they learn of my… how can I say this in English? Shady past.’ She is still smiling in mild amusement. ‘It’s not something I go telling people when I first meet them, of course. Oh hi, nice to meet you, did you know I served four years in prison for smuggling cocaine up from Peru?’ She chuckles. ‘When I do tell people, I always hear the same thing – you don’t seem like that kind of girl.’ She pauses, suddenly serious. ‘But as you’ve probably learnt by now, Kirsty, there is no such thing. Anyone can make a mistake. Anyone can be deceived, or desperate, or just plain stupid.’
I remember my first visit to the prison and seeing the diverse throng of women, young and old, from many different countries, as they stood singing in unison to a God they all seemed to believe in.
‘It’s not something I’m proud of, obviously,’ Gabi continues, her eyes sliding away from mine to watch her daughter, still sleeping soundly in her arms. ‘I come from what Liza and Roberto would refer to as “a good family”. Which means, put bluntly, that they have money.’ She continues gazing at Isabella, gently stroking the soft tuft of hair across the top of her head. She stays silent for such a long time that I start to wonder if she is going to tell me any more at all. But then she continues, speaking slowly.
‘There was no excuse for what I did, no excuse at all.’
‘There never is, though, is there?’ adds Naomi, her face serious. ‘None of us has any excuse for what we did.’
‘No – you’re right,’ Gabi concedes. ‘But what I mean is, I didn’t have a boyfriend who tricked me into it. I wasn’t destitute or homeless or trying to escape an angry horde of Sicilian gangsters. I was, simply… eighteen, and bored.’ She looks up and her clear brown eyes meet mine. ‘I’d just finished school with good grades, and was all set to start university and study catering.’
‘So… why did you… I mean, how?’
‘I went travelling with a group of friends the summer before university. Peru, Bolivia, Chile, all by bus. We thought we were so cool, just grabbing our backpacks and leaving behind our nice homes to live like vagabonds for a few months. My parents thought it would be good for me – see something of the world, experience different cultures.’ She gives a hollow laugh. ‘All I will say is, it’s incredible the different types of people you meet, and the stupid things that can seem a good idea, after weeks of living from hostel to hostel.’ Gabi pauses. ‘Five of us girls went on that trip, and met a group of young men in Peru who offered us money to bring cocaine across the border into Ecuador. Three of us went through with it. And I was the only one who got caught.’
I stare at her. ‘And that’s it? You got caught coming back in to Ecuador, then… four years?’
‘Four years.’
Gabi gazes down again at the tiny little person cradled in her arms.
‘My family had no more to do with me, of course. My parents didn’t come to visit me in the prison, didn’t return my letters. I don’t think they could stand the blemish on their reputation,’ she continues matter-of-factly. ‘Besides, I have three other sisters who have degrees in medicine, chemistry and… some sort of agricultural crap.’
There is no resentment in Gabriela’s voice. In fact, she is smiling at the memory. ‘Liza and Roberto became kind of like adoptive parents to me. I got to know them when they came to visit their daughter, and they kept on writing to me even after…’ Her face clouds over.
‘You knew their daughter? Abigail?’
Gabi meets my eyes. ‘I shared a cell with her.’
I suddenly remember Sebastian’s words, she was found by another prisoner. I stare back at Gabi, but can’t find the words to ask.
‘They were there for me when I was released. Helped me look for jobs, wrote references for me, made sure I didn’t starve in the meantime. Eventually someone agreed to employ me, just a little café in the Mariscal area – you know, where we went on your first night here.’
My throat clenches at the sudden memory of Harry, on our first day here, misguidedly protecting me from an old woman selling cigarettes and chewing gum. How much I have learnt and how far I have come since then.
‘…and it was there that I met Ray. At first they seemed like just another gang of scruffy, hungover backpackers, trying to chat me up over their fried breakfasts. They sat at the very farthest table in the outdoor seating area and kept calling me over for trivial things, obviously thinking it was hilarious to make me walk all the way back over there then mutter dirty comments as I walked away again. They were so annoying.’ Gabi pauses and her voice changes. ‘But then, at the end of the day, I went back outside to clear up and Ray was still there, alone, fast asleep with his head on the table.’ Her face softens at the memory. ‘I asked him where he was staying, and he looked up at me with this forlorn expression and said he had no idea. Turns out he’d been drifting around South America for months, after losing his mum and dropping out of university, and being disowned by the rest of his family, who disapproved of the way he was blowing his inheritance. Between you and me, Ray was from a “nice family” as well.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘We were both dropouts in our own way. And… I know this is going to sound terribly cheesy, but… we saved each other.’
We sit in silence for a moment and I digest all Gabriela has told me, trying to imagine a young, lost Ray washed up at Gabriela’s feet, the two of them clinging to each other gratefully in the absence of family or any real friends.
They seem to have everything figured out now, I think wistfully, looking around the spacious kitchen and through to the pristine restaurant and bar, chairs stacked and glasses lined up ready to reopen in a few days.
Then I think of Liza and Roberto, their lives shattered into pieces at the loss of a daughter, yet still somehow finding enough love among the wreckage to reach out to another lost young woman and help her change her life. Not just one, I recognise, as I think of Liza’s kindness to me over the past few weeks and realise I may not have got through them without it.
‘Luckily I saved him just in time before he completely blew the inheritance,’ Gabi grins. ‘Three years later we opened this place, and worked hard to expand it gradually and build up a reputation. I don’t know where either of us would be now if Ray hadn’t chosen that table to fall asleep at that day. And I still feel so very lucky.’ She looks down at Isabella again, her eyes brimming with love, drinking in every molecule of her sleeping daughter.
‘Of course, not all of us is lucky enough to get out of prison and have a knight in shining armour waiting for us,’ Naomi chuckles, leaning back and kicking her feet up to rest on the chair opposite. ‘Oh, that reminds me!’ She jumps up again and starts rummaging around under her chair, finally pulling on to her lap a voluminous, red-patent handbag. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
She reaches into the handbag and pulls out a small, square package wrapped in brown paper with little antique globe maps stamped all over it. A wicked grin spreads over her face at the same time as my heart begins to thud faster in my chest.
‘So, I saw Sebastian yesterday…’ She holds the little parcel tantalisingly just out of my reach, obviously enjoying the moment immensely. ‘I had to go to the embassy so he could give me the last of my paperwork for my journey home. Can you believe I finally got my passport back? It made me feel like a proper member of society again at last…’
Get to the point, I find myself thinking selfishly.
‘…So, anyway, I also took it as a perfect opportunity to mention you,’ Naomi adds, her wicked grin widening.
‘What do you…?’
‘I told him about you and Harry splitting up,’ she continues, looking positively gleeful.
‘Naomi!’
‘And he asked me to give you – this.’
Finally she hands me the parcel.
I stare down at the careful wrapping, turning it over and feeling its pleasant heaviness, its rectangular solidity between my fingers.
‘Go on, open it!’ Gabriela urges impatiently.
‘He already had it there, on his desk, ready to give to you before I even told him about you and Harry,’ Naomi continues smugly, but I’m not really listening to her any more. With a will of their own my hands are ripping away the paper and scrabbling for the object inside. As the globe-printed paper floats to the floor revealing a section of smooth, unvarnished wood, my hands begin to tremble… as I already know what it is.
The delicate, painstakingly carved vine-leaf pattern captures my attention so much that at first I don’t even register the photo held within the frame. I run my finger over the intricate shapes, marvelling at how they bring out the natural swirls of colour within the wood, remembering how this frame had caught my eye for its simple beauty from the moment I saw it in the handicraft shop.
He remembered.
‘Oh, that’s such a gorgeous photo!’ Naomi exclaims, leaning over my shoulder to peer at my gift. ‘Is that your dad? And I recognise the carving – it’s one of Marta’s, right?’
I nod, unable to speak, staring at the photo.
Lewis is up on his hind legs with his paws resting in my lap, tongue lolling out cheekily, his whole face imploring to be fed something from the colourful array of food spread out on the table before us. My hands are buried in his fur and my head tipped back as I laugh openly, in the unselfconscious way that is only possible when you have no idea your picture is being taken. My father is to my right, just inside the frame of the picture, laughing too and looking sideways at me, his face glowing with an expression I don’t remember ever having seen on his face before.
I don’t look like me, at least not the me I see when I look in the mirror every day. I look happier, freer, completely swept up in the moment.
It’s perfect. The perfect photo. And I hadn’t even realised Sebastian had a camera on him that day.
‘Look, there’s a note, too,’ Gabriela murmurs, tugging a piece of paper from the back of the picture frame and handing it to me. ‘Open it, open it!’
I realise it may have been better to open the parcel later, in the privacy of my own room, but it’s too late now. Both girls are practically bouncing in their seats with excitement. I shakily unfold the note and read it out loud to them.
Dear Kirsty,
Before you ask, I paid triple for this. And I know Marta would love you to have it, after all you did for Naomi. Thank you again.
It was a real pleasure to meet you. More than you will ever know. I’m only sorry I won’t get to see you before you leave – as soon as Naomi is safely on her flight, I have to go to a training course in Colombia, and won´t be back until Christmas. From what I understand, you will have left by then. But I hope we can keep in touch… here is my email address.
Love,
Sebastian (and Lewis)
Even as I finish reading the words I feel an inevitable plunge of disappointment – he’s leaving Quito. Until the end of the month. I won’t see him.
But overlapping the disappointment is also a quiet, persistent thrill of excitement, a spark of future possibility. Just maybe, one day…
I scrape my chair back and clear my throat, addressing the open-mouthed, smitten expressions on the two faces before me. ‘Er, I’m just going to…’ I indicate the door. ‘Put this away.’
I stumble from the room, feeling somehow overwhelmed by Sebastian’s gesture and the joyful moment captured in the photo, suddenly unable to look at it for a moment longer. I climb the stairs to my room and throw open my bulging rucksack, ignoring the chaos of socks and T-shirts spilling from its innards. I look at the photo again, and the note, tracing my finger over every swirl and shape of Sebastian’s handwriting. Then I refold it and carefully tuck it back inside the frame again, before placing it inside a soft jumper at the very bottom of my rucksack.
I know I will get it out again, at some point in the near future, and reread it, probably several times… save the email address to my phone… perhaps even start writing an email. But right now, today, as I had promised myself – I have other things to do.
When I go back into the kitchen I see Isabella has woken up, and is making little gurgling, contented sounds from where she is cradled in Naomi’s arms. Naomi stands beaming down at her, swaying gently on the spot with the natural tenderness of someone who has done this before, many times.
She and Gabriela look up as I enter the room. ‘Hey, do you want to hold her?’ Gabi offers. ‘I don’t think you’ve even held her yet, have you?’
Only properly admitting it to myself now for the first time, I realise I have been keeping my distance from Isabella since her arrival, limiting myself to helping out with the practical side of things – washing, tidying, keeping an eye out. But on some level I have not let myself actually touch her, for fear of unleashing upon myself a tidal wave of emotion.
But now I take her in my arms, letting Naomi gently position her tiny, fragile head to rest in my hand, feeling the soft warmth and surprising weight of her little body. She looks up at me solemnly with twinkling, dark-grey eyes, and reaches out one minuscule hand to touch the bare skin of my arm. I hold her tightly against my chest and breathe in that unique, perfect, powdery baby smell, allowing myself to feel the familiar plunge of longing. I gaze down at her for I don’t know how long, lightly stroking the impossibly soft skin of her face, allowing various waves of emotion to crash over me, feeling a tear escape from the corner of my eye and fall on to her little pink cardigan.
Just maybe, one day…
Then, with great care and tenderness, I hold out my arms to Gabriela and hand her back.