A Wedding in the Sun

Chapter 28

Busy. Jo had to keep busy, which was difficult when the wedding party was in uproar. Ben was talking down his parents in one corner of the breakfast room, while Mónica’s animated conversation with one of her aunts got slightly out of hand in the opposite corner. Adrián appeared to be attempting to corral the rest of the guests into the other corner, away from the carnage. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he pulled out some balls and started juggling.

She hadn’t realised she’d been so happily single for five years, when the alternative was this: upset and embarrassed, with a whole extended family of strangers looking at her and judging, both for things she’d done and things she hadn’t done.

What she most wanted was to disappear out of this mess. She caught Oscar’s eye where the boy stood frozen by the orange juice press and she realised he was thinking the same.

She approached him and asked, ‘You want a juice?’

He nodded dumbly, staring up at her as she placed a few oranges onto the wire feeder.

‘Can you press the button?’

Nodding again, he gulped and studied the machine before pressing the button and watching solemnly as the mechanism started turning. Jo stood back with him as the first orange dropped into the apparatus and was explosively destroyed, shattered and pulped.

‘I know you’re feeling a lot of things right now, Oscar,’ she said softly, ‘but I was hugging Ben only as a friend. I understand why you got worried and I’m sorry for making you feel that, but Ben loves your mum, not me.’ When had that statement become a relief?

‘Do you love my dad?’ he asked, his voice strained, and all the strength faded from Jo’s body until she felt like those pulped oranges.

Her throat was thick and that blubbering mess feeling closed around her again. No, of course she didn’t love Adrián. They barely knew each other. But then why had it hurt so much to hear him describe their relationship as meaningless?

Oh, no, was this why she felt so shit? Because she’d fallen too hard for a man who made bad jokes, wore a thick gold chain and unbuttoned his shirts too far? None of her thoughts helped her produce an answer for a seven-year-old. No wonder falling in love was usually the purview of the young; it was impossible when you understood the full spectrum of grey in relationships.

She noticed Oscar didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, but was staring past Jo, to where his mother had managed to shake off her aunt and was now furiously whispering with Ben. He tried to slip an arm around her and she pushed him away.

‘You’re nicer to her than me!’ Mónica accused.

‘Nonsense, but she was able to hold a sensible conversation about this!’

‘If you want sensible, you should marry someone else!’

‘I know!’ Ben responded in a tone Jo wasn’t sure she’d ever heard from him before. ‘If I wanted sensible, I would not be here today ready to marry you.’

‘Are you? Ready?’

At least nobody in the room was looking at Jo any more. Ben leaned down and spoke gruffly to Mónica, ushering her to the door of the breakfast room and out. Something about the tilt of Mónica’s head made Jo think she was enjoying herself.

Perhaps there would be a wedding today after all?

‘That cup is overflowing.’

Jo turned to Dec in distraction, at first wondering when he had arrived and only afterwards computing exactly what he’d said. ‘Shit!’ she hissed, leaping for the button on the machine. ‘You didn’t hear that, kid,’ she said to Oscar over her shoulder.

‘What’s going on in here?’ Dec asked out of the side of his mouth, leaning close. ‘Did Dad screw up the wedding?’ He rubbed his hands together.

She gave him a whack on the arm. ‘Don’t look so happy at the prospect. There are a lot of feelings involved.’ She glanced meaningfully at Oscar, who was staring at the door his mum had just disappeared through.

‘Yeah, like my aversion to wearing that stupid outfit standing at the front of the church with Dad. I’m not a flower boy. I don’t mind Mónica, but Adrián had a better plan.’

She trailed him absently as he strode to the buffet and began filling a bowl with strange chocolate cereal that would probably give him cavities, topping it with churros and fudge sauce. Noticing Oscar standing helplessly with his enormous cup of juice, she beckoned for the boy to come with her.

‘What plan?’ she whispered to Dec. ‘Did he say something to you when you were playing frisbee on the beach?’

He shrugged as though he couldn’t quite remember and a fog of frustration and confusion whirled around Jo. ‘He just said he liked you – ew – but he wanted me to know he would back off and let us get used to the idea slowly.’

Jo didn’t often feel old, but with all the blood rushing through her arteries today and the rollercoaster of the past twelve hours, she felt each of her forty-six years as though it were a century.

‘He… likes me,’ she repeated slowly. Her eyes searched out Adrián without conscious thought, angling her head to appreciate the fine lines of his broad shoulders, the glint of that necklace that she didn’t hate so much any more. He was handsome and funny and real and… talking to his former father-in-law, who had a grim expression on his face.

As she watched, Alberto’s gaze moved slowly over Adrián’s shoulder and caught Jo’s with a zap. His expression hardened further and she swallowed.

‘Maybe I should just get out of here,’ she mumbled with a hand on Dec’s arm.

‘Hmm?’ Her son was oblivious as usual.

‘Mum!’

Jo whirled at the sound of Liss’s urgent tone, making poor Oscar spill his juice. She steadied the glass with one hand, smoothing Oscar’s hair unconsciously as she waited for Liss to approach. ‘What is it?’

‘I think you should come and see,’ she said with dismay. ‘And Adrián too!’

He was already there, hunched in front of Oscar, mopping his shirt in that caring way he had with his son that made Jo feel weak-kneed. ‘What?’ he asked, looking up.

‘It’s your room,’ Liss explained to him. ‘Go and look. I’ll help Oscar get breakfast. He should probably stay here,’ she added quietly.

Jo met Adrián’s gaze in alarm and they hurried off together. ‘I don’t know what this is about,’ he said as they took the stairs two at a time, ‘but I am so glad to be out of there.’

‘Tell me about it. And you aren’t even the “other woman”,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Oh, but your former in-laws accused me of ruining everything and everyone in that fucking room.’

‘Well, your former in-laws are spies with big mouths!’

‘You think I’m going to argue with that?’ he snapped.

‘By the way, I thought you said María Dolores was a figment of your imagination,’ she accused.

‘I thought she was, but she exists,’ he said, his voice high. ‘I’ve invented the instrument of my own torture.’

‘Did I already point out how much you exaggerate?’

‘I think you’ll find we’re both taking out our frustration on each other – again,’ he said, his tone still sharp.

Her mouth dropped open and she studied him as they took the last few steps to their floor. It didn’t sound very healthy and yet… she felt better already. When he fumbled for her hand and gave it a squeeze, all without looking at her, she could almost believe the world had righted itself again after the loop-the-loop of the past few days.

Adrián went ahead, but stopped short when the doors to their rooms came into sight. ‘?Maldito infierno!’ he bit out. She suspected it wasn’t the first time he’d said something along those lines that day.

Rushing to catch up, she gasped when she saw what had stopped him. His hotel room had been broken into – the bolt was dented and warped and the door splintered.

‘What the hell?’ he muttered. ‘The only thing of value I have is— Joder!’ He shot frantically into the room and she hurried after him, hearing his desperate tone echoing in her mind. ‘It’s gone. It’s gone!’ he cried, throwing up his hands and then groaning as the action wrenched his shoulder. ‘God damn it! They’re not only gossips and spies, one of Mónica’s family is a fucking felon!’

Jo had the fleeting thought that if Ben had lost his temper like this, she would have cowered and panicked and probably fled, but with Adrián, she stepped closer, reaching out one hand and waiting for his haze to clear so he noticed her.

His chest heaved with agitation and he squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. When he opened his eyes again, he fixed his gaze on her, grasping her outstretched hand gruffly.

‘It’s my fault, isn’t it?’

‘How is it your fault that your room got broken into?’

He met her gaze solemnly. ‘The jewels. That stupid joke. Someone must have heard us.’

‘What?’

‘Either that or it really was an inside job, but we can’t throw suspicion on Mónica’s family today of all days. It has to have been that. I’m an idiot.’

‘You couldn’t have known?—’

‘Shit,’ he said breathily, as though he’d been doing exercise. ‘We have to call the police.’

That much was definitely true. ‘Want to use my phone?’ She produced her mobile and handed it over after tapping the passcode.

He paced as he held a rapid conversation with the police in Spanish and then hung up. ‘They’re sending someone soon to log the crime scene. I offered to go to the police station in Benicarló to give a full description of the guitar and file the report because I doubt Mónica will want an officer sniffing around the wedding. But I have to go today – now, if I have any hope of getting back here in time.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ she offered automatically.

He glanced up in surprise.

‘How did you think you’d get back when you can’t drive a manual? And getting out of this madhouse will be an added bonus. I’d better go and see what the kids are up to. Come find me when it’s time to go?’

Adrián looked up eagerly five minutes later at a noise from the door, imagining Jo had forgotten something – or just come back to wait with him because the kids were fine. He was still giddy from the moments spent alone with her, their strange version of normal that had quickly become his favourite version.

But it wasn’t the woman consuming his thoughts who appeared in the doorway as the broken panel creaked open. It was his former father-in-law with his usual stony expression – actually, it was probably a touch stonier.

He approached with slow steps, his handmade leather shoes squeaking on the cool tiles. His red linen shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, allowing his grey hair to overflow through the gap. He held a hand to his chest as though he was about to challenge Adrián to a duel – in flamenco dancing.

He braced himself as Alberto approached – a little too close as usual. Adrián was from Madrid and then London. Zaragoza personal space was a few generations back in his family. Alberto raised his hand and Adrián grimaced as it moved towards him in slow motion.

But the slap never came. Alberto just clapped him on the shoulder – hard – and that was nearly as bad for his poor ligaments. Adrián swallowed his cry of pain and grasped his shoulder gingerly. He should put the sling back on, at least as protection from the violent displays of emotion from members of Mónica’s family.

How odd to think that a week ago he’d been on a motorbike cruising through the Pyrenees, about to have his head in Jo’s lap while he was mindless with pain.

‘Alberto,’ he said roughly.

‘Adrián,’ he replied, peering at him. Adrián peered back, still struggling to work out what this conversation was supposed to be about. ‘Jo told me what happened to the guitar.’ He pronounced her name ‘Ho’, like the rest of Mónica’s family. Adrián was pretty sure the old man knew how he was supposed to pronounce it.

‘It’s… unfortunate,’ was the only safe thing Adrián could think of to say. ‘The thieves must have known how valuable the guitar was – but not understood how valuable it was to this family,’ he added, staring at his feet.

‘This family,’ Alberto repeated with a humph. ‘This great family with an ex-husband and an ex-wife and two stepchildren.’

‘Do you… shall I apologise? I am sorry about the guitar. I did my best to look after it – I always did my best.’

Alberto’s expression changed – only a fraction, but enough for Adrián to suspect there were some deep feelings under there. ‘I understand, Adrián,’ he declared, clearing his throat. ‘I believe you loved Mónica. But you have to understand she’s my only daughter. I’m not rational when it comes to her. I’m all feelings,’ he said solemnly.

Adrián arranged an equally solemn expression on his face. ‘Children have that effect.’

‘That’s why, when I heard the guitar had been stolen, I realised I owe you an apology.’

‘Nohhhh,’ he denied immediately. ‘Perhaps I owe you an apology for not giving you the opportunity to celebrate Mónica’s first marriage – for not giving her the opportunity.’

Alberto shook his head sharply. ‘I invited you to come?—’

‘“Invited” doesn’t quite indicate?—’

‘Yes, I insisted you come to the wedding with questionable motives – revenge, if I’m being entirely honest.’

Adrián had absolutely nothing to say in reply to that. Fortunately Alberto was more interested in saying his piece than waiting for replies.

‘Yes, revenge. I didn’t want to admit it to myself at first, but it’s true. I wanted to rub your face in this celebration – and give your pride a swift kick in case you hadn’t realised yet just how much you’d lost.’

Adrián gulped. ‘I realised,’ he said softly. ‘Every day I’m reminded that we aren’t a family in the same way any more. I grieved.’

Alberto regarded him closely. ‘I did too. And perhaps refusing to allow you to return the guitar was an act of grief.’

‘You have no idea how well I understand that,’ Adrián said with a bitter smile. ‘Perhaps wanting to return the guitar was also part of my grieving.’

‘A part I denied you,’ Alberto said, his voice wavering. ‘It was not fair. It wasn’t fair to make you come here and play for me – for Mónica at her next wedding. I wanted it to hurt for you too, because it hurts me to think she will carry a broken marriage with her for the rest of her life.’

‘I understand it hurts,’ Adrián began, ‘but lots of things hurt. Mónica is happy with Ben. Your pride is difficult to heal, but pride is more trouble than it’s worth in my experience.’

‘And you are happy? Without Mónica?’

‘I’ve… adapted,’ he explained. ‘I have regrets. I don’t know if you ever stop asking yourself what might have been, but I’m looking forward, not back – or I will once this wedding is behind us.’

‘You don’t have to play the guitar. When I realised my true reasons for insisting, I felt guilty and unfortunately became even more stubborn, but now the guitar has been stolen…’

‘It feels like a kind of circle,’ Adrián offered. ‘You gave me the guitar to bind me to you because I didn’t take the time to build a true relationship with you. I insulted you by marrying Mónica without inviting you and you needed insurance. I shouldn’t have taken away her chance for a big wedding – your chance to celebrate your only daughter.’

‘It was a long time ago, Adrián. And we both know Mónica. If she’d wanted a big wedding back then, she would have had her big wedding. People change – especially my daughter,’ he added with a meaningful look. ‘You aren’t the only one to carry the blame and now I release you. You don’t have a guitar to play anyway.’

Adrián waited for the burden to fall from his shoulders, for the feelings of failure and guilt, the regret and grief to uncouple themselves and fly off. It didn’t happen – not because the feelings were still choking him, but because the feelings… weren’t even there any more.

Yes, he’d complained and rolled his eyes about being the subject of gossip and ridicule among Mónica’s family, but that was just his pride. His feelings about his marriage, about Mónica? He’d drawn a line under them somehow – perhaps with a stick in the sand at Lloret de Mar. Or perhaps it was an answer to his prayers from Lourdes.

‘Pity I still need to go to Benicarló to report the guitar missing,’ Adrián grumbled, although he paused in thought, realising he was looking forward to the sweaty trip to Benicarló in the Corsa more than he was looking forward to the fancy dinner after the wedding. It was a disaster, a misadventure – exactly what he and Jo excelled at.

‘Alberto!’ his brother Gustavo called, rushing into the room and mopping his forehead as he caught his breath. ‘I heard what happened! I hope the bastardo takes good care of it and knows the value of a luthier guitar!’

‘I’m pretty sure that’s the entire reason he stole it,’ Adrián mumbled.

‘What are we going to do? We can’t have a wedding without “Entre dos Aguas” and “Un Beso Mas”.’

Adrián felt a withering smile grow on his lips as he contemplated a night playing flamenco and Spanish guitar favourites and… he probably would have enjoyed it, actually.

Gustavo snapped his fingers. Appearing to have the same thought at the same instant, Alberto grasped his brother’s shoulders and shook him.

‘José Pascal!’ they said in unison.

‘He doesn’t go anywhere without his Alhambra.’

‘Talks about it all the time.’

‘But will he let the boy play it?’

Adrián stifled a snort at being called ‘the boy’ but listened avidly to the conversation flitting past him.

‘He’d better. Today is my daughter’s wedding day! Once I’ve given that Englishman a kick up the arse.’

Adrián did not envy Ben in the slightest. ‘Ahem, I thought I was released from my blame?’ he spoke up.

‘Your heart is released from your blame – yes,’ Alberto said. ‘But your hands are required! We’re going to have a party!’