32
The rain continues in earnest for the rest of the afternoon, a low rumble of thunder always threatening but never quite making it as far south as Mojácar. Despite the downpour, I choose to walk back up the hill to the Old Town, enjoying the fragrant aromas coming from the undergrowth as the dry earth turns from a dusty tan to a deep chocolate brown.
Elaine’s story has settled into my subconscious, and I feel numbed by it. I’m not sure if I feel sad or angry or just a deep sense of shock, but whatever it is has stilled me. Do I tell Theo what happened? I know instinctively that he will be quietly thrilled that I have extracted such a remarkable story from Elaine, but at the moment I feel uncomfortable about sharing it with him. Obviously Elaine needed to unburden herself, but she may yet change her mind about wanting the story to be included in the documentary, and the least I can do is give her a few days to mull it over. If Theo becomes involved, he will want me to persuade her to give us the green light, and the idea of that makes me itch with discomfort.
I’ve got as far as the turning to La Fuente when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting to see Theo’s name, but it’s Rachel.
‘Hey,’ I say, my voice slightly crackly. It’s an odd time of day for her to call me, given that it’s the middle of the afternoon back in the UK and by rights she should be at work. Rachel does some sort of exciting marketing job that I don’t really understand, but I know it keeps her extremely busy.
‘Are you okay?’ she immediately wants to know, and I smile. I forget how long Rachel’s known me sometimes. Clearly she can tell from my uneven tone that something is up.
‘I’m fine,’ I assure her. ‘Just been a weird day, and it’s raining here.’
‘Rain? In Mojácar?’ Rachel exclaims.
‘I know,’ I tell her, ducking under the awning of a gift shop to take shelter. ‘I kind of like it, to be honest.’
‘Spoken like a true Brit!’ she jokes, but her delivery is weak.
‘What’s up, Rach?’ I decide to cut straight through the polite chit-chat.
There’s a pause, and I picture my friend at the other end of the line. Her dark red curls and her shining green eyes, the way her neat little nose is peppered with freckles and her nails are bitten down to the quick. I used to tap her hand with my plastic ruler at school whenever I saw her fingers heading towards her mouth, but to be fair to her, nail-biting is probably her only vice. Well, that and Paul.
‘I’ve got some news,’ she says, and again I can sense her hesitancy.
‘Stop biting your nails,’ I order, and she laughs.
‘How did you know I was doing that?’
‘I’m an oracle. I know everything.’
‘If you know everything, then you must know what I’m going to say next.’
I take a deep breath and watch as a tiny lake of rainwater snakes down the road and vanishes into a drain.
‘You’ve dumped Paul?’ I guess, failing to keep the hopefulness out of my tone.
‘Oi!’ she squeals.
‘Okay, I’m sorry. But I thought now that you know Diego is available again, you might have decided to ditch Paul and try your luck with him.’
‘Very funny,’ she deadpans, but I don’t hear what she says next because there’s yet another rumble of thunder.
‘What was that?’ I ask loudly, putting my spare hand over my uncovered ear.
‘I said, it’s actually quite the opposite.’
Oh no.
‘Hannah?’
She hasn’t.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
I know what she’s going to say, but I don’t want to hear it.
‘Paul proposed!’
Of course he did.
‘Yay,’ I manage, the word trailing out like air out of a sad balloon.
‘I’m getting married!’
She’s not giving up the gusto.
‘That’s … It’s great.’ I can feel myself frowning, and force my mouth into the shape of a smile.
‘You will be my chief bridesmaid, won’t you?’ she rushes on. ‘Paul has got a younger sister and a niece that I have to include, but I want you in charge.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to have a word with Diego?’ I ask hopefully, but she doesn’t laugh.
‘Come on, Han – at least try to be happy for me. I know you and Paul aren’t the best of friends, but he makes me happy. I need you to try harder to get along. I’m going to marry him, so there’s no avoiding it.’
I can’t help it, I sigh.
‘I am happy for you,’ I tell her, trying my best to sound convincing. ‘It just seems to have happened really fast, that’s all.’
‘Not that fast,’ she argues. ‘I live with him, Hannah. I love him. What’s the point in waiting?’
‘It’s such a big decision,’ I say grudgingly. ‘You could change your mind about him in a year or so.’
Now it’s Rachel’s turn to sigh.
‘Hannah, I know your mum and dad’s marriage didn’t work out, but that’s no reason to assume that mine won’t.’
Ouch.
‘I know that,’ I grumble, feeling like a sulky teenager.
‘Do you?’ she demands. ‘I mean, do you really?’
‘Of course I do!’ I tell her, but I know I don’t believe what I’m saying. I don’t really have a great opinion of marriage, do I? I’ve been cynical about the entire concept since I was a child. Am I upset because I think Paul is a bit of a tool and Rachel can do better, or am I just scared by how rapidly I’m being left behind? My best friend is in a boat heading along marriage river, and I’m still splashing around in the baby pool of dating. Soon she’ll become one of those smug wedded people who only ever socialise with other couples, and she’ll forget all about me.
‘You know, I don’t want to be cruel, Hannah,’ Rachel says now, and I automatically brace myself for another blow. ‘But you’re not really in any position to judge anyone else’s relationship, having never had a real one yourself.’
I open my mouth to argue, but I have no defence.
‘Paul and I may seem silly to you, looking in from the outside, but to me he’s everything. I want to be his wife and I feel ready to take the next step. We’re staring thirty in the face now, Han, and I want to start a family.’
‘So you’re settling!’ I interrupt triumphantly, even though I know it’s unfair, and I hear her gasp with exasperation.
‘No, you idiot, I’m not settling. If you could just make more effort with Paul instead of doing your best to intimidate him, then you’d see how perfect he is for me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m marrying the man I love. What could be better than that?’
My brain helpfully lines up a list of things better than the prospect of marrying Paul, such as licking a stinging nettle or strolling naked through a busy shopping centre. When it becomes apparent that I’m not going to reply, Rachel resorts to her killer bombshell.
‘Tom warned me you’d be like this.’
That reignites my mouth.
‘What?’
‘He warned me not to expect a fanfare, but I don’t think even he thought you’d be this horrible about it.’
I wince at this accusation, because I’m not trying to be horrible or intimidate anyone. I’m just being realistic. Marriages fall apart every day; people fall out of love with the person they’ve promised to cherish for no apparent reason. I know what I should do at this stage is apologise – tell Rachel I’m just scared of losing her, admit defeat and ask her what she’s planning for the hen do – but the comment about Tom has rankled me, so instead I go on the attack.
‘Why did you tell Tom before me?’ I ask, anger muddying my voice and making me sound disgruntled.
I imagine Rachel shrugging as she answers. ‘I’ve been talking to him loads over the past few weeks, and because I knew he at least would be happy for me.’
I ignore the second dig.
‘Talking to him loads?’ I repeat. Tom hasn’t mentioned as much to me, which strikes me as odd considering how honest the two of us have been with one another lately.
‘He’s needed someone to talk to,’ she informs me stiffly, her meaning clear – that I haven’t been there for him.
I hate the idea of Rachel and Tom discussing me behind my back. I hate it almost as much as the prospect of this bloody wedding that I’ll be forced to attend. I want to ask her what he’s been saying, but my pride sticks a big foot in my gob and stops me.
‘What’s wrong with Tom?’ I demand instead. ‘What has he got to complain about?’
I can hear the sound of voices at Rachel’s end of the line, and she puts her hand over the receiver as she replies to whoever it is.
‘Hannah?’
‘What?’
‘I have to go; I have a meeting.’
‘Fine.’
She lets out another long sigh. ‘Don’t you have anything else to say?’
I think about her harsh comments, the accusation that I’m in some way warped and damaged by the failure of my parents’ marriage, and the fact that she went behind my back and told Tom her engagement news first.
‘Nope.’
Another sigh.
‘Right. Well, take care of yourself over there. I guess I’ll see you when you get back.’
I open my mouth to start saying something smart back, but she’s already hung up and I’m answered by the silence of a dead line. Without really thinking, I immediately locate Tom’s number and press call, drumming my fingers against the wall of the gift shop as I wait for him to answer.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Hannah.’
‘I guessed that much when your name flashed up on my phone,’ he jokes, but I’m not in the mood for laughing.
‘I suppose you were expecting it to be Rachel, given how tight the two of you have become,’ I retort acidly.
‘Oh,’ is Tom’s response. ‘She told you her news, then?’
‘Her happy news? Oh yes. I’m thrilled, as I’m sure you know. She said the two of you have been talking almost every day,’ I tell him, my voice sounding high.
‘Not every day,’ he argues.
‘And talking about me!’ I add, kicking the wall for good measure.
Now it’s Tom’s turn to sigh. I’m sick of people sighing at me, like I’m some sort of nuisance.
‘Where are you?’ he asks.
‘Why?’ I bark, my bad mood making me reluctant to tell him anything he wants to know.
‘I’ll come and meet you, so we can talk properly.’
I pause as Elaine’s story floods back over me, and I think how nice it would be to sit down with Tom and tell him about it, get his advice on how best to handle it and what I can do to help my new friend, but my stupid pride is still sitting with its huge size-nine boot firmly wedged in the way.
‘I don’t want to talk,’ I tell him grumpily, and he braves a small laugh.
‘Then why did you call me?’
‘Oh, shut up!’ I rage, realising as I turn around that the rain has stopped at last. The apartment is only ten minutes’ walk up the hill, but the thought of being in there is becoming less alluring by the second. I can’t face being cooped up, not while I’m in this mood, not while there’s so much to process.
‘Go back to yours,’ Tom instructs gently. ‘I’ll meet you there in a bit and we’ll talk it out, okay?’
‘Fine,’ I snap, then end the call before he has time to reply.
What Tom doesn’t know, however, is that I have absolutely no intention of going back to the apartment. What I need now is a sympathetic ear, a strong drink and the opportunity to forget everything that’s happened over the past few hours – and I know just the place I can get the whole package.