Chapter one: Touching the South
The days clung on here even after the sun had set. Its steep descent always felt premature to her, as the heat lingered on well into the dark hours. Back in England warmth was usually a memory by the time the light went, but Spain was showing her a different summer. The world had suddenly turned into a welcoming place of comfort, careless hours in deckchairs and open doors and windows. No constant threat of drizzles or chilly breezes, no need to keep the weather off your skin with an airtight seal of clothing or architecture.
It was the last evening of their final year class trip. With the past in mind, she had not expected much of the five days. She had never wanted for friends when people needed homework to copy or someone to take them through the basics of photosynthesis.
You're a safe bet when it comes to exams!
She had smiled at the faint praise and tried to remember it two weeks later when the same girl had gone on a rant, mocking her bushy hair, leather-free shoes and most of what lay in between. Her mind rarely found peace with the others around. Solitude meant safety. So she had expected to roam the streets alone.
But the week had surprised her. Away from the daily competition of school, everyone had been much more relaxed and friendly towards her and she had found herself returning the favour, had even joined several forays to the town and the beach with them.
Overall, the week had been a constant party of varying intensity. Their lodgings in the middle of the town of Calella meant there was always someone around, always plenty going on. And even though she missed the countryside (she had always preferred the quiet of the woods to the clubs and malls), the vibe of her own species had for once resonated with her. Yes, the place was filthy --stiff with binge-drinking, smoking, rubbish-dumping tourists-- but she felt readier than ever to respect urban sprawl as kind of crustacean life-form with its own rights and merits.
But now, in spite of all the new-found openness, she really wanted a few hours to herself again, take time to digest the day, catch up with her diary. So as the others began to congregate down in the atrium for a farewell barbecue, she quietly departed for her lodgings at the top of the building. She could always turn up later ...
She met no-one on her way up. The key turned with only a discreet click and the carpet floor of her bedroom rustled softly as she opened the door and muted her footsteps as she went inside. She felt she was entering a hidden sanctum where she could relax, reflect and, perhaps, explore ...
A brief, cold shower brought back her skin's memories of the day. It had felt curious to swim with her classmates, trying to enjoy the sea wrapping around her body with them nearby. She had learnt to show them a cool, intellectual façade, caring first and foremost about the hard-won good of being respected after years of taunts and disregard. Letting her hair down and simply having a good time with her foes of yesteryear had cost a constant effort. Had they realised her turmoil? Well, they had eyes, didn't they, and she hadn't joined in the frolicking and ballgames and catch-me-if-you-can, even though the others were clearly enjoying it. Everyone else had seemed at ease, and she had lain on the beach, pretending to relax but quietly envying their loose happiness. Was their jolliness just as false as her calm? She couldn't convince herself of it and had felt a stab of shame for hoping so. Had their past cruelty done this to her, made her keep her distance from anything that looked suspiciously like simple fun lest it should turn against her, forcing her to watch it longingly from the sidelines?
She thought she had long had a foot in the trap of caution anyway.
Don't forget life is about joy
, she told herself. But she
knew
she enjoyed her life. Didn't she? Certainly no use worrying too much about that ... Still, she had thought herself balanced and mature, but lying there, alone by her own unhappy choice, she had wondered if it was the others who were mature, whether she really was the uptight, complicated bore and killjoy they had called her in years past.
I must be hard work at times
, she thought.
And they're graciously putting up with me.
She had felt a strange, refreshing humility and chuckled to herself. Perhaps she could be gracious herself ...
Now, towelling herself off, she saw she had spent the last five days reluctantly opening up to joy, gathering momentum. And with the last-day melancholy hanging in the air, she felt it was time to crown it with some sort of private celebration.
She hung the towel on the rail and examined herself in the mirror. She had always doubted she could stay with the others on the beauty front, but looking at herself now it hit her that she wasn't that badly placed. She had always kept herself fit and healthy, bicycling to school, giving it her all in sports classes. And right now she felt clean and fresh from her swimming and showering. And something, perhaps the Spanish air, had given her the sort of warm softness she had always thought beyond herself. Her face wore a slight flush and her drying hair played in curls over her shoulders. But above all, her reflection looked as happy as she felt. She couldn't help but smile at it. Positive feedback loop. She grinned. What a pity, came an unbidden thought. What a pity, never to have used that body's full potential ... What a waste of happiness ...
She laughed at the idea, then heard her laugh end, while the idea remained. She frowned slightly through her smile, ambling aimlessly around the room. She realised she was restless and, although the idea of food held no attraction, somehow hungry. For a second, she considered trying to go to sleep, but knew at once that it wouldn't work any time soon. She glanced at the diary on her bedside table.
Later
, she thought.
There might be more to write about ...
Her body was humming, asking for something extra of the day. And she heard a murmur, rising from the tepid shade at the back of her mind, asking a question that had visited her in other moments of ease, never to be answered. And she found herself listening to it, appreciating the idea, letting its detail blossom. Her right hand moved across to touch her left forearm, and she stood there, stroking it absent-mindedly, biting her lip.
Then, rather conscious of her steps, she walked over to her bed, lifted the nightgown from the covers and began pulling it on, wondering what exactly to do in it. She looked down as its hem fell to her feet. It was barely a proper gown, just a weightless, pale nylon garment so flimsy you could count the stars through it. It was roughly the shape of a dress but probably never meant to be worn as one.
A movement in the corner of her eye made her turn and she found herself looking at another mirror.
Beautiful.
She saw it in a flash, before either pride or modesty had time to cloud her judgement.
Do you want to hear it said aloud?
The question danced across her mind.
I don't need to. I know well enough.
Of course she did. She didn't
need
to do anything. It was up to her ... Her insides tightened.
She pictured a group of people, food and drink and cheer ... and herself gliding in through the archway, a revelation ... everyone turning, jaws dropping ... gasps, whoops, goosebumps ... raised camera phones ... "Say
cheese
!" ... pictures on the web ... funny looks and comments for months ... her family hearing things ... her lasting shame. The thoughts came with jolts of increasing power, the last three decidedly too strong for comfort. Her hunger pulled back swiftly and for a moment she lost faith in it. She was quite right not to pursue all kinds of fun. The reddest apples often had a big rotten patch on the other side. Damn her ties ... if only she were a stranger to everyone ...
But she was a stranger here ... and a couple of faces flashed across her mind, their mouths half-open in astonished excitement; hushed whispers in a foreign language. It was over in seconds, but she understood at once. She knew those faces. She had first seen them only days ago, and come tomorrow morning she would never see them again. Probably. She remembered their first meeting, their first and only conversation.
***
"Perdón? ... Fernando?"
He heard the voice in the ice cream queue behind him, but it was only when it said his name that he turned, startled that the speaker knew it. They must have overheard David address him.
A young woman was standing in front of him, dressed mainly, though not fully, in sunshine. He hastened to look at her face and regretted the move much less than he had feared. He remembered her at once, recalled how the chattering English pupils had crowded into the hotel lounge, how her wild, bushy hair among the neat and straight had caught his quick eye in seconds. She had not seemed to notice his stare then, but she was looking straight at him now. He met her lively eyes and watched, bemused, as her mouth moved.
