14
‘The original Indalo Man symbol is believed to date back some four thousand five hundred years, and some believe that it represents a god holding a rainbow above his head, as part of a protection pact with mankind. Others, however, believe that the true meaning has been lost over time, and that now it is purely a symbol meaning good luck, or a charm to ward away evil.’
‘Cut there,’ calls Theo, strolling across the cobbled square to speak to Claudette. I already know what he’s going to say, that she needs to inject a bit more enthusiasm into her words. The symbol is what the documentary is all about, and it won’t work if we don’t get our viewers excited about it.
We’re filming at Plaza Iglesia today, which sits in the heart of the Old Town and is home to the Mojaquera – a marble statue of a woman carrying a large clay pot of water on her head – as well as the imposing Church of Santa María. Once a fortress, it’s constructed from vast slabs of brown stone, and dominates the area like a bullish big brother, one that looks all the more unmistakable next to the sugar-cube-like buildings that cower beneath it. While it’s not my favourite spot, I do like the sense of history that comes from being close to something that was first built as far back as 1560. There’s also a huge and fully blooming bougainvillea, which has dropped its beautiful magenta petals all over the tables and chairs of a tapas restaurant on the edge of the square.
Claudette has now repeated her opening spiel and moved on to the more recent history of the area, and as I listen to her words, I’m reminded again of Elaine.
‘The Almerian artist Jesús de Perceval moved to Mojácar in the 1940s,’ Claudette says, her voice full of authority. ‘Ten years later, he founded the Movimiento Indaliano, which chose the Indalo figure as its official emblem. This group attracted many painters, artists, writers, poets and musicians, and their work has assured the passage of the Indalo from simply a cave painting to a symbol that is recognised all over the world. As well as good luck and protection, the Indalo is also associated with rejuvenation, rebirth and hope.’
Was that why Elaine found what she was looking for when she arrived here? I wondered. That hope she told me about, which is linked to the Indalo. When I had my little tattoo done all those years ago, it was more to do with my love of Mojácar than my belief in what the symbol actually meant, but since coming back here it feels as if it’s taken on a whole new layer of importance. I like the idea that it’s been protecting me over the past ten years, and I love how much myth surrounds it.
Nancy has taken advantage of a break in filming to go over and chat to Claudette, who infuriatingly seems just as enamoured with her as Tom and Diego. Thank God for Theo, I think, staring adoringly at the back of his dark head. Aside from a polite handshake of greeting when we first arrived this morning, he’s barely said three words to her. Then again, he’s only said about four to me. The pressure of the tight deadline is clearly getting to him, and as such his concentration is absolute.
A large patch of sweat has appeared on the back of Tom’s blue T-shirt, and I cringe in sympathy as I watch him setting up his camera for the next shot. Claudette has moved from the shade of the bougainvillea to the vast arched doorway of the church, and is now making a fuss about being in the direct sunlight. The fact that she was sunbathing topless all day on the balcony of our apartment yesterday seems to have conveniently been forgotten, as she complains to Theo about wrinkles and the risk of skin cancer.
‘Come along now,’ he soothes, keeping his tone conciliatory. ‘Your skin looks fabulous in this light, I promise you.’
Oh, he’s good. He’s really good.
Claudette happily stares straight into the camera and begins charting the history of the church behind her, going into ecstasies over its unique pastel mural, but before she can reach the end of her final sentence, a mobile phone starts ringing.
‘CUT!’ yells Theo, immediately swinging around to locate the source of the interruption.
‘I’m so sorry,’ mutters Nancy, fumbling in her bag and finding the offending phone.
‘It’s okay,’ Theo says, glaring not at Nancy but somehow, horribly, directly at me. ‘You weren’t to know. Hannah, you should have told her.’
‘I did!’ I squeal, even though I know it’s not true. I hate the way Theo’s looking at me, like I’m nothing more to him than an irritating fly that keeps landing on his ankle.
‘Hannah,’ he says, a warning note in his voice. ‘Please do not shout at me.’
‘I’m not!’ I say again, far too loudly. But it’s just not fair. Nancy is the one at fault here, and I’m being made to take the blame. It’s exactly the same as it was when we were little kids. I would go to visit my dad and we would be encouraged to play together, then Nancy would cry for absolutely no reason and I would be told off. Well, I’m not having that happen again – not here, no way.
Before I work myself up enough to say anything more damaging, Tom steps in and suggests that I go and film some more vox-pop interviews down by the beach. We’ve only managed to collect a few that are useable so far, and Theo is keen to start and end each segment of the film with local people talking about what Mojácar and the Indalo symbol mean to them.
‘You have the hand-held camera, right?’ Tom says, his expression conveying far more than his words. He’s doing me a favour, I know he is, but that isn’t enough to douse the hot coals of resentment smouldering inside me.
‘I think Tom is right,’ Theo agrees. ‘I don’t really need you here today, Hannah. I have all your notes and Claudette knows the script.’
I hate them. I hate all of them.
‘Fine,’ I say, giving up with a sigh. ‘Come on, Nancy.’
‘Oh, Nancy can stay,’ Theo adds, and I swear I feel a knife go right through my heart. Looking up, I see that Tom is just as surprised as me.
‘We’ll bring her down to the beach later and meet you,’ puts in Claudette, who I’m convinced is enjoying all the drama. ‘There is live music at Carlos’s bar tonight – we can make a night of it.’
‘Fine,’ I say again, apparently unable to locate any other words from inside my angry hive of a brain.
Snatching up my stuff without looking at a single one of them, I glance once more at the beautiful bougainvillea and head off across the cobbles, using every fibre of self-control I have left not to stomp. It takes me another five minutes to reach the bus stop just below the Plaza Nueva, and by that time I’ve put a call through to Rachel.
‘I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!’ I moan, before my friend has even finished saying hello.
‘Erm, hello Hannah, so nice to hear from you. I’m fine, thanks – nice of you to ask.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, kicking at the kerb. ‘But I hate her.’
‘I got that part.’ Rachel is smiling at the other end of the line, I can tell, but by the time I fill her in on the latest instalment of the ‘Nancy ruins Hannah’s life’ story, her mood has changed.
‘I’m so sorry, Han – that does sound a bit unfair.’
‘A bit?’
‘Okay, it’s a lot unfair. Theo is clearly an idiot.’
‘Oh, but he’s such a gorgeous idiot,’ I sigh, quickly updating her on what happened yesterday between the two of us in San José, before Nancy arrived on the scene.
‘Wow,’ she says, exhaling with the sort of pride you only ever get from your very closest friends. ‘It sounds to me as if Theo has got the mega-hots for you.’
‘I wish he did,’ I grumble, paying the bus driver and choosing a seat right at the back. ‘But of course he doesn’t.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Rachel presses. Bless her, trying to be supportive. I wish she had flown out here to join me instead of Nancy.
‘Because he’s far too good for me,’ I begin, ignoring her protestations. ‘And because he thinks I’m an idiot that looks like Tom in a wig.’
‘What?’ Rachel is understandably confused.
‘He said that we looked like brother and sister.’
‘That is not the same thing as saying that you look like Tom in a wig,’ she states, and I find myself giggling despite my despair.
‘What am I going to do?’ I wail, watching a group of Spanish teenagers board the bus carrying beach towels and a football.
‘About Theo or Nancy?’
‘Both!’ I exclaim.
There’s a pause as Rachel thinks through her answers, and I picture her pretty green eyes slanted in concentration.
‘Theo just lost his temper because he’s hot and stressed and because Claudette winds him up,’ she replies, wise as always. ‘He will have forgotten all about it by this evening, so my advice is to just do as he says today and get some amazing interviews, then never mention it again.’
I do like that idea, but I don’t know if she’s right about him forgetting. Still, me showing him just how well I can work under my own steam will definitely help me get back into his good books.
‘And Nancy?’ I ask, a scowl appearing on my face as soon as I utter her name.
‘I know you don’t want to hear this,’ Rachel begins, and I groan loudly. ‘But she hasn’t done anything all that bad yet. I know it’s annoying that she’s hanging around and getting you into trouble, but that was more Theo’s fault than hers. You have to be the good cop with Nancy, or she’ll just play up more.’
‘How did you get to be so smart?’ I ask, affectionately begrudging.
‘I’ve met Nancy, don’t forget,’ she points out. ‘Men can’t see through the little-girl-lost act in the same way that we can. They’re just not made that way. All they see are her boobs.’
I laugh out loud at that, but then in the next breath I’m overcome with a new panic.
‘What if that’s why Theo wanted her to stay – because of her boobs?’
‘Then he’s a pig and disgusting,’ Rachel says crisply. ‘And you’d be better off without him.’
Her use of the word ‘pig’ has just reminded me of Paul, and I climb off the bus with the guilty realisation that I haven’t even asked how her life is going. I am a terrible friend.
‘How’s living with a boy, then?’ I say now, bending to scoop up a bright green cricket from the pavement and put it safely into the grass.
‘Oh, you know, smellier than it used to be,’ she laughs. ‘But no, it’s fine. In fact, it’s lovely. He’s even cooked me dinner a few times.’
‘And it’s edible?’ I reply, struggling with the mental image of Paul dressed in a pinny, serving fajitas.
Rachel giggles again. ‘Not really,’ she admits. ‘But at least he’s trying.’
‘I’ll have to come over and sample some when I’m back,’ I promise, even though we both know I won’t.
‘You know, one day all this will seem so funny,’ Rachel says. ‘Life has a way of doing that, I always find. Of showing you just how okay you really are.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ I tell her, meaning it. ‘Because at the moment, it feels like there’s hardly anything left for me to laugh about.’