Chapter 34
34
OCTOBER 2018, XALAPA, MEXICO
That Same Night
At the little desk in the cramped living room of his apartment, Hector wakens his laptop and checks the camera works. He studies his face in the monitor. Wide-apart eyes of darkest brown that crease into laughter lines like contours of the Sierra Madre. His hair looks dishevelled and his khaki T-shirt sits tightly around the tops of his arms.
Cálmate .
Hector clicks on a green square to start FaceTime with the only number he’s ever called. It still says Arctic Fox on the caller list of one. He smooths the waves kissing his temples and is pleased to see peace in his face. Rage has passed. The shrill dial tone only soothes him.
A love heart-shaped face fills the rectangle. ‘ Gratulerer med dagen, guapa! ’ Hector says sloppily.
Cecilie’s smile fills the screen, and she’s touched by his efforts, however clumsy the pronunciation. They messaged each other throughout the day, punctuating her thirtieth birthday with good wishes and photos. Hector bought a slice of tres leches cake on his way to work at Lazaro’s and sent a photo of it to Cecilie before he ate it; Cecilie sent Hector a photo of the new harp her mother had bought her, a shining blue bow atop it; Hector sent Cecilie a message to say he wished more than anything that he could be at the party; Cecilie sent Hector options of her wearing two dresses reflected in her bedroom mirror and asked him which he preferred.
Now, Cecilie slumps into the sofa and Hector’s favourite black dress has a dampness rising from the hem as she plunges her frozen feet in a hot bubbling foot spa next to the thick brown rug. They see each other’s faces for the first time in weeks.
Hector leans in closer to focus on the slightly pixelated image.
He gasps.
‘Wow, you look amazing!’ he says, his palm scratching the back of his head. Even with twelve-hour make-up blurring Cecilie’s bleary eyes, Hector is spellbound. He’s never seen Cecilie’s face in full make-up before. Even though green dust dances under black smudged eyes, it looks dramatic and stunning. And it suits her.
A real-life angel.
I look a mess.
Seeing her face in the corner of her laptop makes Cecilie rub under her eyes.
‘Anyway, how was my pronunciation?’
‘It’s not my birthday any more, silly!’
Cecilie has a feeling of relief: that she turned thirty and the world didn’t stop turning; that the party is over; that she said what she had to say to Andreas.
‘It looks like you had a good party.’
‘I did. We did. Espen did a great job. ’
‘Are you home now?’ Hector asks nervously.
‘Yip. Soaking my dancing feet. Heels do not suit me…’
Cecilie lifts the laptop to pan the camera around the living room. Hector sees his Black Swan disappear in a whirl as a pile of unopened presents come into view on the long wooden dining table; sunlight starts to enchant the vast garden beyond the window, and a large television sits flat against a wall; the Calder doesn’t move above the fireplace; a stationary harp, gilded and golden; then back to Cecilie’s face as she places the laptop back on the oak coffee table, above her soothed feet. Hector didn’t see any sign of anyone else in the room with her.
‘You?’ Cecilie says as her face refills the screen.
‘ Sí . Solo,’ Hector confirms as he ducks his head out of the way to show the fuchsia, red and orange stripes of the wall hanging.
She’s not there.
Cecilie scans the screen frantically, drinking him in while she can, as Hector picks up his laptop and gives a twirl around the room. The wall hanging blurs into the kitchen, which blurs into the lime-green walls, which blur into the night sky that looks into the top floor apartment, then Hector places the laptop down and returns to the wooden chair with the holy cross cut out of the back of it.
‘So, tell me about the party…’
‘It was awesome. I had such fun!’
I wished you were there.
‘Did you take pictures?’
‘Of course! I took them for you. I’ll send them in a second. The room looked amazing. The food was great, and I danced so much my feet hurt!’
‘Great,’ Hector says, feeling a pang of envy, his body pulled by longing. ‘I wish I could have danced with you; I wish I was there to rub your feet.’
Sadness flits across Cecilie’s face, but she doesn’t say anything. Bubbles in the pedi spa provide a comforting, rhythmic hum.
‘Was Mister Denmark at the party?’ Hector tries to sound casual, tries to make it a joke. When Cecilie mentioned her Danish friend a few weeks back, Hector knew what it meant, and it’s played on his mind ever since. He raises one quizzical eyebrow and gives Cecilie a playful, desperate look.
‘Yes.’
‘Is he still there?’ he asks, trying to keep envy and urgency out of his voice. He knows he has no right to feel the jealousy he does.
‘No. He’s back at the hotel.’ Cecilie smiles at the screen, which pixelates. She can’t see the relief on Hector’s face as he shuffles on his old church chair; he can’t see how reassuring her smile is.
He settles down so the screen can sharpen.
‘Did you pick up my parcel yet? Is that it on the table?’
‘No, I was decorating the party, and it’s Saturday. Well, Sunday now, but the post office shuts early on a Saturday. I’ll get it Monday.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now because I got you something else. Something cooler.’
‘What? Now?’ Cecilie starts to laugh at the screen, then looks around her living room to see what surprise Hector might have planted.
‘Listen closely.’
‘What is it?’ Cecilie puts the sparkling black cuff that runs up her left ear towards the camera on her laptop and closes her eyes. Giddiness has overcome guilt for Andreas and fatigue in her feet, and she is filled with happiness. So much so that the image of That Person They Never Talk About doesn’t even pop into her head.
Cecilie’s ear cuff sparkles on Hector’s screen.
He puts his lips to the camera. His voice lowers to a whisper and he mumbles something about soya.
He got me soya?
Cecilie can’t seem to hear what he’s saying without seeing him say it, so she fills the rectangle with her face again.
‘What is it?’ she repeats, searching Hector’s beauty for reassurance.
He says it again. ‘It’s me. Soy yo .’
A whisper travels across a gulf, an ocean, a sea and a fjord, and arrives in Cecilie’s living room, filling her eyes with meltwater.
I must have misheard.
She takes a deep breath and puts her hand to her lips. ‘You? You’re my present?’
‘ Sí .’
Condemnation turns to elation.
I can’t believe it.
‘How?’
‘I’ve saved money. Everything I earned at the newspaper just about covered living, and I managed to save enough from the department store for a flight. Abuelo said he’d give me a little to help with hotels. I’m coming to Europe.’
‘Oh my God! Where?’
‘London? Paris? Oslo? Wherever is easiest. I could fly direct to London, Amsterdam or Paris. Madrid is probably too far for you. But I can connect to Oslo.’
‘I could meet you wherever, and bring you here. ’
Could . Cecilie doesn’t believe this can be real, though she wants to.
‘I will meet you wherever, and bring you here.’
Hector smiles.
‘What about… What about… Pilar?’ There, she said it.
‘It’s over. We’re done.’
Hector ponders just how far up Pilar’s leg Benny’s hand has reached by now; if they’re still in the bar, that is.
Cecilie doesn’t want to ask how, not now anyway. ‘When?’
‘How’s Christmas?’
Green lids flutter frantically. ‘I want to see you tomorrow.’
Hector laughs. ‘Christmas is my best chance of getting time off. The paper shuts down for one week, and I’m sure they’ll give me another off. The women in Lazaro’s will cover me, I know it.’
They never liked Pilar anyway.
Cecilie sinks back into the low grey sofa as warm bubbles fizz around her feet and her stomach.
‘I can wait,’ she says with certainty.
Minutes ago, Cecilie thought she’d never meet Hector Herrera, but at thirty years and seven hours old, she’s just received the best birthday present of her life.