24
I’m still feeling mildly indignant forty minutes later when I knock tentatively on Elaine’s front door, but as soon as she opens it and welcomes me inside, some of the tension leaves my rigid body. I love this place, filled as it is with trinkets and paintings – the colourful clutter of a lifetime spent in Mojácar. Elaine herself is decorated today, too, in a beige smock covered in paint splatters.
‘I lost track of time,’ she explains, crossing to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. Peering through the window into the little courtyard garden, I see the beginnings of a painting propped up on an easel.
‘Is that La Fuente?’ I ask, accepting a glass of fresh orange juice.
‘Very good.’ She looks pleased, and I return her smile.
‘Are you painting it from memory?’
‘I am,’ she admits, dropping her eyes bashfully. ‘I can see it in my head whenever I close my eyes, so why go to the trouble of carrying my canvas all the way down there?’
‘Why indeed?’ I agree with a smile.
Elaine pops upstairs to get changed while I set up the camera and tripod, this time choosing an angle that will capture plenty of her artwork in the background. If she’s going to appear in the documentary, she may as well use it as an opportunity to advertise her talent. When she reappears, I reach into my bag and extract the print that Theo bought for me in San José, of Mojácar with the double rainbow.
‘Is this one of yours?’ I ask, holding it up, and her eyes widen in surprise.
‘Yes! How did you know?’
‘I didn’t,’ I admit. ‘I was just drawn to it, and then the more I looked at it, the more I thought you must have painted it. Plus, it has the rainbows.’
Elaine has arranged herself on a small red sofa while we’ve been talking, her bangles clinking together as she tucks away a loose strand of hair.
‘You know how much I love those,’ she tells me, and I switch on the camera.
‘Why two rainbows?’ I ask. ‘You don’t see two like that very often, do you?’
‘Hardly ever,’ she agrees, crossing and then uncrossing her legs. ‘In fact, I’ve only ever seen it happen once in my life.’
‘Was it here?’ I guess, but she shakes her head.
‘It was in London, actually – not long before I left for the last time.’
I remember what Theo said, about pushing Elaine to tell me the reason why she ended up here, and the beginning is as good a place as any to start.
‘Why did you leave?’ I ask quietly, and I see her tense up a fraction. I’m just about to apologise for being nosy and move the conversation on, when she starts to talk.
‘As I told you before,’ she begins, glancing at the camera and then back at me, ‘I never knew my father. I was brought up by my mother in a huge house on the outskirts of the city. She always told me that a rich friend had left it to her in their will, but I realised years later that it was more likely to be a squat.’
I risk a sip of juice, not taking my eyes off Elaine as she continues to speak.
‘She had an open-door policy, and as long as people donated food, then they were welcome to stay.’
‘What about school?’ I enquire, but Elaine shakes her head.
‘My mother didn’t really believe in modern education. She wanted to raise me in her own way, and it was far easier to slip through the system in those days.’
‘You poor thing,’ I murmur, but Elaine disagrees.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I thought it was the greatest. I was free to do whatever I wanted, and the older I got, the less my mum kept tabs on me. She was very loving towards people, my mother, just not to me.’
‘Is that why you left?’ I want to know.
Elaine pauses before answering, a faraway look on her face.
‘In the end, I had no reason to stay,’ she says simply, but we both know there’s more to the story than she’s letting on.
‘One of the women who passed through and stayed with us at the house for a time was Spanish. She had fallen in love with an Englishman and come back to the UK with him, but their relationship hadn’t worked out and she was so sad, so broken. He had left her with very little, and so my mother took her in and held her hand while she cried for this great lost love. Eventually Bonita started to talk about her home, about a village hidden in the mountains where fresh water runs out of the fountains and all of your wishes come true.’
‘Mojácar?’ I whisper, and her eyes gleam.
‘Yes. Mojácar.’
‘What happened to her, Bonita?’ I ask, half-wondering if she’s in a house around the corner even as we speak.
‘She died.’ Elaine looks almost apologetic. ‘Took an overdose while she was living with us. My mum was so angry about it. I remember her saying that she’d ruined everything, and that now the police would be sniffing around.’
She doesn’t mention drugs, but it’s obvious that there must have been some in that house. I try to picture the scene inside, of human bodies slumped against ragged sofas, ashtrays overflowing with joint stubs and peace signs daubed on the walls. It doesn’t seem like a very safe place for a child to be.
‘Love can be a dangerous thing,’ Elaine says now. ‘When you have it and can feel it in return, it’s the most wonderful, precious thing in the world, but if you lose it … Well, it can be so destructive.’
‘Have you ever been in love?’ I ask boldly, glancing down at the Indalo Man tattoo on my wrist. Elaine sees me do it and smiles at me with affection.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘But not in the way in which you are thinking.’
‘Are there more ways than one?’ I wonder aloud, but I already know the answer. I know because I love my mum, and I love Tom, I guess, but then I think what I feel for Theo is a kind of love, too.
‘Each love is different,’ Elaine says. ‘People talk of great love, but sometimes that is the most precarious of all. When love makes you unsteady and unsure, it can be more of an enemy than something to treasure. Love needs to be strong, to prop you up and make you happy.’
‘You seem to know so much about it,’ I tell her. ‘You must have had a great love to know what it is.’
‘Perhaps.’ She gives me a sideways look. ‘Or perhaps I just notice things. Like you, for example.’
‘Me?’ I can feel myself starting to blush. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Something has happened since I saw you last,’ she remarks. ‘You can’t sit still, and there is a new colour in your cheeks.’
‘That’s probably sunburn,’ I joke, but I can feel myself squirming as she gazes at me.
‘How are you getting along with your sister?’ she asks now, thankfully changing the subject.
‘Not much better,’ I reply, filling her in briefly on what happened this morning at the apartment.
‘Why do you really think she came here?’ Elaine asks when I finish, and I find I have no idea how to answer her.
‘I don’t know,’ I tell her honestly. ‘She says it’s because she wanted a holiday, but then she refuses to sunbathe. And she didn’t even tell our dad that she was coming, which is really odd because she’s always been his little pet.’
‘Perhaps things have changed,’ Elaine suggests, and I have to agree.
‘It still doesn’t make sense for her to come here, though,’ I say, realising that until this moment I clearly haven’t given the matter enough consideration. ‘Even if she has had a row with my dad, she and I aren’t exactly best friends.’
‘Did you ever get on?’ Elaine wants to know.
‘I was excited when she was born,’ I say, recounting what my mum has told me about that time of my life. ‘But she was a clingy baby and hated it when I held her. She’s wailing her head off in all the photos of the two of us.’
‘Babies do that,’ Elaine remarks.
‘Well, Nancy did it until she was at least six,’ I reply. ‘And then she was never fun to play with. She would scream if I didn’t let her win at everything, and she would cheat at games, then blame it on me. When we were both teenagers, I was over at my dad’s for the weekend and I heard her saying awful things about me to her mum, all this stuff about how I looked like a boy, and that she was embarrassed to be related to me.’
‘That’s cruel,’ Elaine allows. ‘But she was still young. Teenagers say lots of things they don’t mean.’
‘She did mean it,’ I argue. ‘I know she did. I refused to go back there after that. I told my dad that if he wanted to see me, then he’d have to take me out for the day. Then, of course, Nancy got jealous. She thought I was getting special treatment, but she didn’t understand that she got to see my dad every day, she got to live in his house with him. I didn’t have that any more because of her and her mother. I had one single day with him every two weeks, and still she wanted more.’
There’s a silence as I catch my breath.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, taking another sip of juice. ‘I shouldn’t be ranting at you like this. It’s very unprofessional and unreasonable of me.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Elaine assures me. ‘I never had a sister – or a dad, for that matter – so I’m not sure how much help I can be.’
‘You’re lucky,’ I mutter. ‘Honestly, sometimes I think I would be better off if it was just mum and me. If my dad had simply left and moved to the other side of the world or something. Eventually we would have lost touch, and I wouldn’t have to deal with Nancy, and be reminded every time I see her that my dad chose her mum over mine.’
‘It must be hard,’ Elaine says, but she’s frowning as if she doesn’t really believe it.
‘You think I’m overreacting,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I really will stop going on about it now.’
‘Don’t ever be sorry,’ Elaine touches my arm. ‘I think we’re friends now, aren’t we?’
I nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Well then, as your friend I’m always here if you need to talk – and I won’t ever judge you, I promise you that.’
‘Thank you.’ I feel ridiculously like I might start crying.
‘You can’t choose your family,’ she adds. ‘And I’m even worse than your dad, in a way, because I really did leave and not go back. I used to tell myself that my mother would have been relieved to see the back of me, but I feel differently now – now that it’s too late.’
‘Too late for …’ I begin, but at that moment the camera starts to beep.
‘Oh bugger,’ I swear, getting up from my seat. ‘The battery’s about to run out. Hang on.’
A quick search of the bag, however, reveals no cable.
‘I must have left the charger plugged in at the apartment,’ I groan, again humiliated. ‘I’m so sorry. First I start blabbering on about my own problems and now this. You must think I’m awful.’
Elaine stands up and pats me on the back. ‘I assure you, I think nothing of the sort,’ she says, heading into the kitchen. ‘We can finish the interview another time. But first, will you have some breakfast with me?’
I can already see the fresh bread, cheese and tomato piled up on the worktop, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. It’s been ages since I last ate anything, and I have had quite the workout in the past twelve hours. Plus, the way I’m feeling towards Claudette and Nancy at the moment, I’ll use any excuse not to have to spend time with them.
Picking up the postcard with the two rainbows and slipping it back into my bag, I walk across to the kitchen and join my new friend.