Chapter 4
Martina Valcárcel stares at her computer screen with a concentration that, in reality, isn’t quite complete.
The newsroom occupies a renovated old warehouse near Puertochico: high ceilings, iron beams, industrial windows that let in the light of the Cantabrian sky.
At that hour of the morning, the newsroom exudes a sense of calm, and one could say it’s her favorite time of day.
Martina is sitting at a long table covered with photography equipment, print proofs, and several sheets of paper with pencil notes.
Across from her, Cora Vidal holds a cup of coffee in one hand while examining a series of photographs spread out on the table as if they were tarot cards she is still learning to interpret.
It’s been three days since Rebeca moved into the apartment across the hall.
Three days during which Martina has tried to fill her mind with work. Preparing the documentary report, selecting images, reviewing framing and contrast, responding to emails from the newsroom… A sense of normalcy that has helped her keep going.
But that normalcy has a crack in it.
Because every little sound coming from the apartment next door has seeped into her consciousness with an uncomfortable clarity. Rebeca is there, just a few feet away, and that realization keeps coming back, persistent, hot, like a hand resting on the back of her neck until it makes her skin crawl.
And as if that presence weren’t enough, Julia has decided that fate needs a little nudge.
Martina’s phone vibrates on the table. She stares at it without touching it for a second, as if she already knows what she’ll find on the screen. When she finally picks it up, the message appears illuminated with an almost provocative clarity.
“I think we should invite her to dinner. Smooth things over, don’t you think?”
Martina feels a small current run through her chest. For a moment she stares at the words in silence, trying to decide if the suggestion is naive or deliberately reckless.
Then she turns the phone over and places it face down on the desk, as if by hiding the screen she could also hide the conversation they will inevitably have later.
“Is everything okay?”
Cora’s voice breaks the thread of her thoughts.
Martina looks up. Cora Vidal watches her from across the table with a curious expression, her eyebrows slightly arched and her coffee suspended halfway between the table and her lips.
Martina sighs.
“Not really.”
She leans back slightly in her chair before adding:
“Julia’s got it into her head that it would be a good idea to invite Rebeca over for dinner.”
For a second, silence falls between them.
Cora blinks.
“Invite her… to dinner?” she repeats, as if she needs to make sure she heard correctly.
Martina nods, and it’s clear she’s tired of thinking about it—very tired.
“Exactly.”
Cora carefully sets her cup down on the table and then leans forward slightly.
“Okay,” she says, and the tone with which she utters the word isn’t exactly enthusiastic. “And what do you think?”
Martina shrugs.
“What am I supposed to think? That it’s a terrible idea.
” Martina takes a long sip of her coffee.
“I don’t want Rebeca sitting at my table, Cora.
Because it’s going to be the most awkward moment of my life and…
” Martina trails off and exhales slowly.
“And I don’t want to feel what I felt the other day when I saw her either. ”
Cora watches her in silence for a few seconds.
“And what did you feel?”
Martina looks down at the photographs.
“That time hadn’t passed. That she was still wearing the same perfume. That she was still looking at me as if she could see right inside me. And that, damn it, I didn’t mind admitting it at all. That’s it.”
Cora doesn’t answer right away. She picks up one of the photographs and places it next to another, though her eyes remain fixed on Martina.
“Well, let’s see, thinking about it a little… madness, madness…” she murmurs. “I don’t know if, after all, I’d call it that.”
Martina opens her mouth, unable to believe what she’s just heard.
“Really?”
“Julia might be partly right,” Cora continues calmly. “It’s clear that you’re bound to run into each other. Sometimes facing things head-on keeps them from becoming bigger ghosts than they really are.”
Martina lets out a small laugh.
“I don’t think it’s a ghost in this case.”
Cora holds her gaze for a moment before adding:
“If you say Rebeca seemed upset… maybe she hasn’t forgotten what happened—that’s true.”
Martina looks down at the photographs resting on the table. The anonymous faces, the weathered hands, the worn nets… Before her, she sees other people’s stories that have always been easier for her to capture than her own.
“That’s clear,” she replies a little later.
Cora picks up another photograph and places it next to the previous one.
“Anyway, let’s get back to this,” Cora suggests. “If we want to finalize the selection for next week’s feature, we have to decide which images make the cut and which ones don’t.”
Martina nods.
She leans over the table and begins reviewing the proofs. The images start to make sense as she and Cora place the photographs side by side.
“I think this one has more narrative power,” she says, pointing to an image of an elderly man holding a worn net in his hands. “But the light in this other one is much more interesting.”
Martina examines both carefully.
“The first one tells us more about the story,” Martina replies, flashing a small smile. “That man’s gaze says so much.”
Cora nods.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
For several minutes, they work side by side at the table, moving photographs around, comparing frames, and jotting down notes on a selection sheet. Martina opens the digital file on the computer to enlarge one of the images.
“If we crop the left margin slightly,” she says, pointing at the screen, “the composition will look much cleaner.”
Cora leans over her shoulder to get a better look. Her breath brushes against Martina’s ear for a second.
“Yes, that works better,” she murmurs. “Much better.”
The work atmosphere envelops them once again with a certain naturalness. For a while, Martina manages to focus on the images, on the technical details, on the visual decisions that are part of her craft. The murmur of the newsroom wraps around them like familiar background noise.
But Cora isn’t the type to easily forget conversations left hanging. And when she finally steps away from the computer, takes a sip of coffee, and looks at her intently.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
Martina looks up.
“That sounds dangerous.”
Cora smiles slightly.
“Why didn’t you ever tell her what really happened?”
The question lands on the table with deceptive gentleness.
Martina stays still for a second. Her gaze remains fixed on the computer screen, though she’s no longer looking at the images.
“I don’t think it would have done any good,” she replies, shrugging.
Cora tilts her head slightly.
“Why?”
“When everything was leaked… she was deeply hurt. It destroyed years of her career. The accusation fell directly on her work. And my photograph was there, linked to the leak.”
Martina has never forgotten the story. The publishing controversy, the accusations in professional circles, the ensuing silence that spread like fog.
“But you weren’t the one responsible,” Cora says firmly.
Martina looks away.
“No.”
“Then you could have explained it to her.”
“It’s just that I didn’t support her the way I should have,” Martina sighs.
“When the scandal broke, I was… at a loss,” she continues.
“I didn’t know how to react, or how to help her.
And right then, the opportunity for the story in Milan came up—a project I’d been trying to land for months. So I left. Just like that.”
Cora rests her elbows on the table.
“And then you broke up with Julia.”
Martina nods.
“And then I broke up with Julia, yes.”
Cora watches her for a few seconds before asking the question that seems to have been on her mind.
“And how are you two doing?”
Martina lets out a small sigh.
“Well… same as always.”
“That sounds pretty vague.”
“Because it is.”
Cora leans in a little closer to her.
“Explain yourself.”
Martina slowly swirls the coffee cup between her hands. The dark liquid forms small swirls inside, in which she sees her own distorted reflection. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for where her life stands at that moment.
“Julia and I work well together on paper,” she says after taking another small sip. “We have our routines, our conversations, our dinners with friends. We make love, share a bed, plan our trips. But lately…” Martina searches for the right word, “we’re tired.”
“Tired?”
“Yes. As if we both knew that something has been wearing away over time, but neither of us really wants to see it. We’re just going through the motions. And the sex…” she shrugs. “What can I tell you? You’ve been through the same thing.”
Cora frowns slightly.
“I don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to keep pretending nothing’s wrong.”
“At least I have my articles, right?” Martina adds with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Cora watches her in silence for a few seconds.
“You know that doesn’t address what’s going on.”
“Maybe, but right now I don’t think I should focus on that. I have more important battles to fight.”
The newsroom continues with its usual activity around them, but the conversation has created a small bubble of intimacy over the desk.
Finally, Cora leans back in her chair and shrugs.
“I think you should just cut your losses and agree to that dinner.”
Martina raises her eyebrows.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Cora says. “If Julia’s already got the idea in her head, she’ll probably keep pushing until it happens. And with Rebeca so close… avoiding her forever doesn’t seem like a very realistic strategy.”
Martina falls silent. What Cora says makes a lot of sense, though it isn’t necessarily reassuring.
For a few seconds, she stares at the photographs spread out on the table, the anonymous faces captured in their images, the stories of other lives she has learned to observe from a certain distance.
Her own story, on the other hand, has never been so easy to frame. And that makes her heart skip a beat.
Then she looks up at Cora and shrugs again.
“I’ll see what I can do.”