Chapter 44
Violet
The thunder began its throaty rumble a little after the pinkish dawn, and the rain fell in a torrent that set the cobbled pavements steaming. I watched from the bedroom window as dark clouds emerged from behind the mountaintops and lifted a finger to trace the droplets of water as they skidded down the glass.
I’d heard Henry leave in the midst of the downpour, the scrape of his boots on the drenched stone path, the squeak of the hinge as he closed the gate behind him. We hadn’t spoken since leaving the restaurant the previous night, our stuck-record argument about money jolted back into song by the joy of seeing Luke comfort the baby. Our son had managed to push his impatience down, temper his emotions, and take positive action to solve the problem. I could not have been prouder of him and knew Henry must feel the same way.
A flash of the brightest blue tore across the horizon, the rain intensifying as Mother Nature raised her baton, conducting the elements into a cacophony of sound. I was struck by a flippant urge to strip off all my clothes and run naked into the deluge, hands raised, and head tilted back, drinking in the storm until I imbibed its strength. For too long now, I’d sat passively back and watched as life happened to me. The intrepid girl who’d clambered over the wall below me felt like an apparition, so far removed from the person I was now as to be improbable. It was no wonder Henry no longer loved me; I no longer loved myself, no longer much liked myself. If I kept spiralling down at this pace, I was in danger of ending up somewhere so deep, and dark, and lonely, that I might never find a way back.
It was time to stop dithering and do.
Rising stiffly from my hunched position beside the window, I pulled on shorts and a vest, and smeared on some moisturiser. Once downstairs, I slid my feet into flip-flops, found an old baseball cap hanging on the rack by the door, and picked up my bag from where I’d left it slung across one of the dining chairs. There was no sign that Luke and Eliza were up yet, so I scribbled them a note and propped it up against the kettle, before slipping outside into the rain.
Dodging puddles and the few determined tourists who’d ventured out in disposable ponchos, I made my way nimbly down the Calvari Steps into the hub of the town, listening to the myriad chime of bells as first one church and then another marked the arrival of a new hour. My toes were splattered with sodden dirt, the top I’d put on saturated within minutes, but I barely noticed.
There was no queue at the cashpoint, which I took as a good omen until I reached for my purse and discovered that it was missing. Cursing under my breath, I leant awkwardly against the wall, trying my best to root through my bag whilst avoiding the cascade of drips falling off the shopfront awning above.
A crash of thunder shook the sky.
Was it possible that Henry could’ve taken it? Perhaps I’d pushed him too far, and he’d decided to check the state of my finances himself by trying my bank cards. Ironically, this was exactly what I’d been about to do myself, check and see if my mother had changed her mind and decided to lend me some money after all. Henry knew the pin number for the one linked to my current account, because I’d recounted it to him on my first night here, and he could easily test the others by attempting a contactless transaction. The mere prospect was enough to send a chill through me, and I shivered as the rain continued to fall.
Would Henry really do that? Was he capable of something so underhand? I found it hard to believe, and yet, there was a chance.
I set off with grim resolve towards the part-demolished house on Carrer de la Garriga, not caring about the storm or the perturbed faces of those I passed, and pushed aside the makeshift fence before stalking straight inside and up the stairs. I could hear the radio, bursts of static interspersed with snatches of song, and followed my ears to the attic space, where I found Henry and Tomas in the far corner below the rafters.
‘Oh,’ I said, faltering at the sight of two people where I’d hoped to discover only one. ‘What are you doing here?’
Tomas gave me a bemused look. ‘It is my house?’ he said, posing it as a question, then, ‘I am helping, or trying to help.’
Henry removed a nail that was clamped between his teeth and passed it to him. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Remember what I said about the positioning – we don’t want them too shallow, or the boards won’t hold.’
Tomas raised his hammer in a salute. ‘Sí, se?or.’
‘I’ll only be downstairs,’ Henry said, and then, having looked me up and down, he added, ‘Did you swim here?’
‘It’s raining.’
Making his way to what would one day become a skylight, Henry hooked a finger under the tarpaulin and eased it to one side.
‘Just checking to see where you parked your Ark.’
‘Hilarious.’
‘You shouldn’t be up here without a hard hat,’ he said, motioning to remove his own.
‘Don’t bother.’ I raised my hand. ‘I’m not staying long. I just came to ask if you’d seen my purse.’
Henry frowned. ‘Did you check the fridge?’
‘That was once!’
Tomas began hammering; short, sharp bursts of noise that went right through me.
‘Come on.’ Henry ushered me back downstairs and into the shell of the lounge. Sprigs of electric cable burst out from several points along the walls, as well as the middle of the ceiling, which meant the next stage would be plaster-boarding. I wondered what colour scheme Tomas and Carmen would choose, whether they were the stripped-back and modern types, or fans of colour, clutter, indoor plants, and artwork. It was too painful to contemplate the fate of La Casa Naranja, and how much heart a new owner could rip out of her. Then again, I countered, if I was given the choice, I would happily have dismantled every part of myself if it meant I could have Henry back.
‘You definitely don’t have my purse then?’ I asked, turning to find him only inches away.
Henry lifted a hand as if to touch my cheek, then appeared to change his mind. I stared at him, at his contours, those livid scars to which I’d grown so accustomed over the past few weeks. I no longer experienced a visceral clawing sensation in my stomach when confronted with them; they had simply become another part of him.
‘I don’t,’ he confirmed. ‘I’d never take away what is yours.’
I groaned, bending my knees, and resting my palms against my thighs. ‘It must be at the house. I just thought that— Never mind.’
‘That what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Henry put a hand on my shoulder, steering me slowly around to face him. ‘Look at you, Vee – it obviously does matter.’
‘I’m a mess,’ I moaned, and he tutted.
‘Nothing a hot shower and a hairdryer won’t fix.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ I said wearily. ‘Although, you’re right, I do look like a dandelion after it’s faced off against a hosepipe. Fact is, my whole life’s a mess, and I don’t know what to do about it, Henry, I really don’t.’
He released his grip on me, waiting while I slowly levered myself back up to full height, the top of my head level with his chin.
‘I’m going to make us a cup of disgusting instant coffee,’ he said, ‘and then we’re going to talk. Properly talk – OK?’
I nodded meekly.
The kettle was in the kitchen – one of the only rooms in the house that hadn’t been completely gutted – and I lingered in the doorway as Henry poured boiling water over freeze-dried granules and gave each mug a stir with the handle of a paintbrush.
‘Tell me if it tastes like turps,’ he said, as I took a tentative sip and choked.
‘No,’ I spluttered. ‘I think turps might’ve improved it.’
The rain was still coming down, but with less ferocity than before. We took our coffee outside and stood together under the shelter of the half-built porch, watching steam ribbon up into the pale sky. Tomas was still hammering away upstairs, and I could hear the shrill call of the ever-present swallows in the distance.
‘We never really talked,’ I said. ‘Afterwards. Not properly.’
He nodded, staring out across the dug-up front garden. ‘I guess I wasn’t ready to listen.’ He took a sip of his drink, wincing as it burned his tongue. ‘Bloody hell, that really is bad.’
‘Think of it as medicine,’ I said, raising my own mug. ‘Do you remember how hard it was to make Luke swallow anything medicinal when he was younger? He didn’t even like Calpol, and that stuff is essentially sugary goo.’
Henry smiled faintly. ‘Is it any wonder he turned out stubborn, given who his parents are?’
‘Poor Luke,’ I agreed with a nod. ‘He didn’t stand a chance really, did he?’
‘Him comforting that baby last night.’ Henry turned to me, reanimated by the memory. ‘When I woke up this morning, I wondered if I’d dreamt it.’
‘That’s how I felt the other day,’ I told him. ‘When you and I, when we...’
His smile vanished abruptly. ‘I’m sorry if I came on strong.’
‘Henry.’ I let my knuckles graze against his. ‘Please, don’t say sorry, not for that. Never for that. I’m not sorry. I wanted it to happen. I’ve missed you, missed us.’
‘Us.’ He repeated, tossing the word out bitterly, as if the flavour of it offended him. ‘Which version of us are you talking about? Because the us that we were when this happened –’ he gestured impatiently towards his face – ‘wasn’t in a great state, if you’ll recall.’
‘Can’t we just forget all that?’ I began, only to be cowed into silence by his expression. Henry appeared to be chewing over his words, and sensing that his resolve against me could be weakening, I made myself continue.
‘We could start again. People do it all the time. Luke’s in a better place now, he’s so much more aware of his emotions, and how to get a handle on them. I honestly believe that, and we can be the same as we were before. I know we can if we try.’
He was shaking his head.
‘Henry.’ I grabbed his arm. ‘Please!’
He looked down at my hand, a complicated mix of emotions etched across his face. ‘Vee,’ he started, and then, just as quickly, ‘Forget it.’
He’d looked away from me and was staring across the garden. I turned in time to see Juan push aside the temporary fence, a small, dark-haired girl hitched up on his back. Henry said something that sounded like ‘typical’, and then a high-pitched scream ripped through the rain-splattered yard. Paulina had spotted Henry, and once again, she had begun to shriek that awful word.
‘Caracortada! Caracortada!’
Juan shushed her angrily, his usual languor thoroughly rattled. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed, hopping puddles to reach the house. Paulina’s head was buried against her grandfather’s shoulder, skinny arms gripping tight, clearly terrified. The two of them disappeared inside without a backwards glance, and a loaded silence stretched out under the porch. I felt as if I’d dry-swallowed a stone, and coughed in a vain attempt to dislodge it.
Henry turned to me. ‘It might be easy for you to “forget all that”,’ he said mutinously. ‘But I can’t. I don’t have a choice. It’s here, on my face.’
‘I know, I know.’ I was starting to become frantic. The brief glimmer of light in his eyes had dulled, the forgiveness I’d dared to wish for dashed away by disgruntlement. ‘Henry,’ I whispered, but I could tell I’d lost him.
‘The us we were,’ he said, ‘in the beginning? That’s gone – destroyed.’
Stepping forwards, he tipped what was left of his coffee into the mud, then turned to face me. ‘I’m sorry your life is in a mess, but I don’t think I’m the right person to help you, Vee, not any more.’
I felt myself start to crumble. ‘If not you then who? My dad is dead, my mother thinks I’m a waste of space, even Ynes is disappointed with me, and Luke is— He can’t help me, it’s not his job, is it? I don’t know whose it is if it’s not yours. Tell me who, Henry – who?’
He looked at me pityingly. ‘Don’t you see?’ he said. ‘It’s nobody’s job. The only person who can help you, is you.’