Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
The quiet morning outside the hotel ends at its glass sliding doors. There is chaos inside, people from all sides of the family and hotel staff running around, talking in frantic groups. Even tourists who have nothing to do with the family seem to be helping out. A printed picture of Lila is being handed around.
At reception, we find Nisha, wide-eyed and so pale her tan skin has gone grey.
‘We’re here,’ her mother says, pulling her into a strong hug, ‘what happened?’
‘Oh God,’ she whispers. She looks as though she’s going to be sick. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’
‘Nisha, where did you see her last?” Frannie runs to her ”Where have you checked?’
‘You need to be getting ready for the wedding’ Nisha says, ‘Theo’s round here somewhere, he can’t see you.’
‘Nisha shut up. Nothing’s happening until we find Lila.’
Nisha doesn’t look as though she’s going to cry, she looks beyond crying, hollowed out with panic. She swallows and speaks again.
‘We were together for breakfast. Some of the family went up to the chapel to make sure the venue was all fine and to see if Theo needed anything. I thought she’d gone down with them, I assumed she went with George. But then I found this,’ she pulls a silver thin silver hairband from her pocket. ‘It’s for her hair. I called George to tell her she’d forgotten it, and he said she didn’t go with them. And she”s not with anyone else I”ve called. I don’t know where she’s gone.’
Nisha’s breath begins to hitch and her mother catches her hand and rubs her back as Nisha presses her collarbone hard with her hand.
‘Right,’ Frannie says, ‘this is absolute madness right now. We need people stationed in places around the hotel, the chapel and the town rather than everyone just running around.’
She takes a photo of Lila on the reception desk and turns it over, pulling a pen from the pot and beckoning a receptionist over.
‘You three,’ she gestures to her mum and two of the hotel staff who have come to talk to us. ‘We need to be organised.’ She begins to write down the initials of everyone at the wedding, splitting them into groups along lines of family and friends and first languages, then assigning each of them search tasks and places to check; the foyer, the gardens, knocking on room doors on different floors. As she’s scribbling, Theo and George emerge from a corridor and hurry towards us.
The look Nisha gives them breaks my heart, the strangled hope, quickly followed by a fresh wave of utter panic when they shake their heads.
‘Here,’ Frannie hands the list over to Sameera and the members of staff. ‘Each of you take a photo of this list on your phone and go around making sure everyone knows where they should be. I’m going to print more photos and take them to people in the town near here. Someone might have seen her or taken her in. Theo come with me, then when you’ve got the pictures, round up everyone you can and get them to walk different ways back up towards the house in case she’s lost somewhere there.’ Theo nods, his face grim.
‘And you two,’ she says, pushing a handful of the pictures into George’s hands, ‘you’re on free-roaming duty. I want you guys checking all the spaces in between the rooms, corridors, lifts, stairwells, the path between here and the chapel, anywhere I haven’t thought of here.’
‘We’ll find her Nishio,’ George says, using a name I haven’t heard him use since he and his sister were teenagers, ‘she’ll be fine, she’ll be back in no time and you can get on with telling her off.’
Nisha can’t bring herself to react, just nods mutely and allows herself to be steered away by her mother as she and the hotel staff begin to hurry to the back of the hotel, to the restaurant and gardens.
‘God she looks awful.’ Frannie says. She turns to me, George and Theo. ‘Everyone else is going to be a state.’ she says ‘You can see it. I need us four to hold it together completely. We don’t panic, we don’t get overwhelmed. We focus up and we find Lila okay?’
The three of us nod, all wearing looks of absolute focus. I push down the panic I feel, all the horrible scenarios conjured by the idea of a missing child.
‘We’ll find her,’ George says again, as though trying to will the idea into existence.
‘Let”s go.’ Frannie and Theo turn and stride back to the reception area, where the receptionist is printing out more photos of Lila.
‘Stairs first?’ I ask.
‘As good a place as any.’ George says. He writes awkwardly on the back of his photo of Lila, I see him listing in-between spaces as Frannie had said. ‘This way we can keep track of where we’ve checked.’
‘We shouldn’t go together,’ I say, ‘we should look on our own.’
‘Really?’ George gives me a withering look ‘You can’t put our issues aside for Lila?’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ I say, keeping my voice calm, understanding that George is immensely stressed. ‘I mean that if Lila’s in an in-between space, she’s probably not standing there, is she? She’ll be moving through it, either looking for someone or -’ I hesitate, the words with someone hang unsaid in the air and we both try not to acknowledge it. I continue quickly. ‘If we stagger our checking we’ve got double the chance of finding her.’
George’s expression softens. ‘You’re completely right.’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, I just-’
‘It”s fine,’ I reassure him, lifting a hand to his arm and squeezing it gently, ‘let’s just get her found and then things can go back to being awkward.’
He nods. We write out our list of places to check and decide that he will start from the top, and I will start a few places down the list, so he will be around fifteen minutes behind me.
‘And if you see anything, let me know.’
I nod and set off to the gardens, while George walks the other way to the lifts. I force myself to stay calm as I climb down the patio steps, calling out Lila’s name. I hear other members of the family doing the same in the distance, Lila’s name echoing around the hotel gardens like bird calls. I do a lap of the path that goes around the hotel, the corridor of each of the four floors, walk through every hall on the ground floor and check the car park, with absolutely no sign of Lila. I message George each time I move through an area on the list. He doesn’t reply, presumably following my trail with increased desperation. Frannie and Nisha both ring me once, checking in, each sounding frantic. After an hour, nobody has found her.
After I’ve cleared all the areas in the hotel I follow the steps back out to the front, where I can see the chapel up in the distance, up the mountains past the town. The sun is high and hot in the sky, and I take my cardigan off, wrapping it around my waist. Something falls to the floor, and as I pick it up I see that it’s the letter I wrote to George, that I’d stuffed quickly into my pocket the night before. I fold it small and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans before starting the walk up the hill. I see the priest from the chapel, and a stocky blonde man I recognise as Theo”s best man, handing out the photos of Lila printed from the hotel to people from the town. The priest is already in his full vestments for the wedding, and is so old he seems stooped under the weight of it.
From where I am, up in the path carved into the side of the mountain I had a reasonable view of Mijas Pueblo. I scan out across the town, looking for a head of shiny light brown hair, a pink flower girl dress. I try not to think about seeing her being led away by a stranger, or being pulled into a car, stood so far away, with no power to stop it. I turn away from the view feeling sick. All I can do is search the areas I’ve been given, and pray that someone calls me soon.
Looking back at the path, something catches my eye, crumpled and redbeneath a scrubby bush. I crouch and pull it from under the dusty branches. I immediately recognise the thick red paper and can’t work out why, but as I unfold it I realise it’s an envelope - the envelope that Lila bought from the stationers - the envelope from the letter she was planning to write to Camilo. I dig my phone out of my pocket and send a picture to George.
Is Camilo at the hotel yet? I ask. He replies immediately.
His family went back to his house in case she comes back. And then a second later, Shit is that the paper she bought at your work?
Find Camilo, I say, He might know where she is.
I put my phone back in my pocket and keep climbing to the chapel, the last stop on my list. My last hope. The doors are flung open and the church is abandoned, the priest, the photographer and church staff having all left to join the search. Lila is not here. The chapel has been decorated beautifully for the wedding, the wooden pews frothing with white and lilac flowers, the altar and walls hung with shimmering cloths in pale gold that catch the light falling through the window. It looks like something from a Medieval fairy tale and for just a moment I stop and take a breath at the sheer beauty of the place. Despite my panic, something in me responds to the feeling of being somewhere cool and quiet in all the commotion. I touch the flowers of the back pew, running my fingers along the soft petals.
I move out of the back of the chapel and into the garden. It feels more lush and tropical than when I was last there, the flowers heavy and lounging in the sun. I reach the gate at the back of the paving, remembering Lila jumping up and down to see beyond it, and that behind the gate is the pool. And I know, without knowing why I know it, that Lila is there. Panic grips me and I run the last few feet, sprinting through the gate, prepared to jump into the water, dreading the worst.
She is sitting on the white stone steps beside the pool in her bridesmaid’s dress, her hair carefully combed and styled with flowers, clutching a pink piece of paper. She has pulled her shoes off and thrown them into a corner where they’ve landed clumsily in a pile.
‘Lila,’ I say. She looks up and I see that her face is flushed and red with dried tears. As I approach she sees the red envelope in my hand and begins to cry again. I sit beside her.
‘I think this belongs to you.’ I say softly, holding the envelope out to her.
‘I don’t want it.’ Her raw voice is heartbreaking. ‘It’s so stupid.’
‘Did you give it to Camilo?’ I ask, knowing that I’m right.
She sniffs and nods her head, staring out at the dancing light on the surface of the pool.
‘I asked him to read it and he did.’
‘Then what?’ Her lip trembles and I put my arm around her. She’s so small in the crook of my elbow. ‘Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me.’
‘I’m so stupid,’ she says under her breath.
‘No,’ I say strongly squeezing her tightly, ‘you’re not.’
‘I feel stupid,’ she says.
I stroke the top of her head with one hand while reaching into my pocket with the other. My fingers find the hastily folded letter.
‘Do you want to read something that will make you feel better?’ I ask.
She looks up at me curiously and I unfold the envelope, pulling out the letter, yellowed with age.
‘I was a bit older than you when I wrote this,’ I say, ‘And I never gave it to him, but I know how brave you have to be to write something like this.’
She takes it and, to my surprise, offers me hers. I accept, holding it in my lap. We read for a few minutes in silence. The letter hurts to read, her innocence, the earnestness of her feelings, but mostly the familiarity of it all. I recognise so clearly all the hope she was carrying in her letter, the warm glittering ideal of a boy she didn’t really know at all. I wait for her to finish mine.
‘Well?’ I ask.
‘Your handwriting was rubbish,’ she says, a glimpse of a cheeky smile on her tear-stained face. I laugh.
‘No, your handwriting is just really nice,’ I say.
‘But it’s nice,’ she says, ‘It’s sweet that you think all these things about Uncle George.’
‘Well, I wrote that when I was much younger,’ I say, ‘My point is that you’re not stupid for feeling this way, and you’re not stupid for telling him. You’re incredibly brave. It hurts when someone doesn’t like us back the way we want them to, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn”t have told them .’
A creak sounds at the gate and we both look up to see George, dark curls plastered to his face, wedding shirt creased from running. He looks at Lila, then at me, and doubles over with his face in his hands, audibly gasping in relief. I smile.
‘Can you message Nisha, Frannie and your Mum? They’ll tell everyone else.’
He nods and walks across to us, pulling out his phone. He sits on the other side of Lila, who tears up again at the sight of him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she begins but he interrupts her.
‘You’re safe,’ he says, ‘that’s all that matters. What are you holding?’ he asks, looking down at his phone as he begins to type.
Lila looks at me and must see the panic in my face because she quickly hands it back to me and takes back her own letter.
‘I gave Camilo the letter I wrote,’ she said, lifting her chin in the air, trying to seem unfazed. ‘but he doesn’t like me back the way I want him to.’
George finishes typing and puts his phone in his pocket. Silently he puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head, fiercely.
I take Lila’s hand, so small in mine.
‘He should be flattered that someone as wonderful as you would feel that way about him,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ she smiles, ‘he should.’ She crumples up her letter and gives me a look. I crumple up mine.
‘Here’s to being a stupid little girl,’ I say, and lob my letter into the pool. It’s swiftly followed by hers, and thetwo darken as they become waterlogged, the paper turning to pulp and sinking.
‘Is my Mum really mad at me?’ Lila asks us.
‘I think right now she’ll just be happy you’re safe.’ George gets to his feet, ‘But I’d make sure you keep your room extra clean for a few weeks.’
Lila nods and takes the hand that he offers to her, pulling on his weight as she gets to her feet. I stand up also. The letters are shrunken and dark, as small as faraway planets, at the bottom of the water. There was something cleansing about it. I hope it felt as good for Lila as it did to me, to have taken ownership of her feelings and have let them go.
‘I’ve told your Mum we’ll meet them at the chapel.’ George says. ‘Let’s go.’
Still holding her hand he leads her carefully out around the pool and across the garden. When we step back into the church we hear an anguished cry and look through to the front doors, where Nisha is running up the steps, having spotted us from where she was climbing.
George lets go of Lila’s hands as she runs to her mother who falls to her knees to catch her in her arms in the middle of the aisle. A few petals fall from the pews to land on the mother and daughter as they embrace, Nisha weeping uncontrollably, her hand held tight against the back of her daughter’s head.
‘Oh thank God,’ I hear Theo’s voice and look up to see him, Frannie and the priest entering the church. The priest claps his hand to his mouth in relief and Theo looks as though he might fold over onto the floor. Frannie strides across, seemingly unflappable, but falters as Lila pulls away from her mother and buries her head against the fabric of her silken plum suit.
‘I ruined your wedding,’ she whispers, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Frannie takes her in her arms, holds her tight, as though afraid she might vanish again.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she says, and I realise she is crying. ‘As long as you’re safe. It doesn’t matter at all.’
The priest says something in Spanish and Theo replies in kind. He didn’t speak Spanish when I first met him, he has learned it for Frannie.
‘I know, I know,’ Frannie says, ‘but what were we supposed to do?’ She speaks in Spanish with the priest and everyone but me turns to listen.
George takes a few steps until he is beside me and leans in, so close I feel the warmth of him against me.
‘The wedding should have started over an hour ago.’ he murmurs. ‘We won’t be back to the hotel in time for the caterers unless we eat before the wedding, but the reception room won’t be ready.’
I nod, watching as Frannie takes out her phone and Theo does the same.
‘Right, team,’ she pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket, ‘here are all the groups we made for search parties, everyone on the guest list is written here. If we each call two people from the group and get them to round up everyone else, everyone can be here in the next thirty minutes. We’ll send taxis to collect anyone who needs them and once everyone’s here we’ll just get started. I’ve just messaged the hotel to send the caterers home so we don’t need to worry about food. We’ll get the ceremony done, have a quick drink in the garden while we get photos, and send everyone off into town to find their own dinner. Half of them are Spanish, they barely eat before nine anyway. We’ll collect the cake from the hotel tomorrow and people can eat it at the house.’
‘Aren’t you going to get ready?’ Nisha asks, looking at Frannie’s outfit.
‘I would rather wear this and just get on with things.’ she says. ‘So long as neither of you mind?’ She looks at Theo and the Priest who both shake their heads.
‘I don’t have anyone’s number,’ I say. ‘Why don’t I go back and collect anything we might need from the hotel?’
‘Get your dress,’ Frannie says, ‘and Nisha’s. Don’t worry about mine, there isn’t time.’
‘We don’t want to upstage you,’ Nisha says, recovering her usual poise, though she still holds tight to Lila’s hand.
‘Please,’ Frannie raises an eyebrow and gestures at her suit, ‘look at me, you won’t.’ Everyone laughs but the Priest, who looks bemused until Theo gives him a quick translation.
After a brief discussion to confirm our plans, George and I set off from the chapel, walking back down the hill.
‘Are you not on call duty?’ I ask.
‘I’m going to sort the taxis, I’ll get one up to collect Abuela and anyone still back at the house, then go down and collect you along with anyone who needs a lift.’
‘That is handy,’ I say, ‘I wasn’t looking forward to lugging a load of clothes up that hill.’
‘Get going and I’ll meet you out at the front of the hotel.’
We part as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and I begin to rush back down the hill. On my way I come across the group of locals who had been talking to the priest earlier, someone shouts to me.
‘Did you find the little girl?’
With no time to stop I just give them two thumbs up, which they receive with a loud cheer, then have to hurry past them to the bottom of the hill and quickly back to the hotel. I tell the receptionist to take down the printed photos of Lila, to which she gives a cry of relief. Then I rush to the room where Frannie and her bridal party would have been getting ready.
I don’t have much time to stop and appreciate the dressing room full of beautiful furnishings, vanity mirrors and flock wallpaper. Two champagne bottles are sat in a bucket of what was once ice but is now tepid water, and most of the stylist’s tools are left spilling out of a bag on the floor, Frannie having called her to bring some hairspray, a brush and what makeup she could carry up the hill as quickly as she can. I pull the bridesmaid dresses in their bags, feeling grateful I don’t have to take responsibility for Frannie’s dress, which is beautiful but heavy and ornate, and has a long delicate train and veil that I would almost certainly step on if I had to carry it by myself.
I rush back out and see a taxi waiting, with George stood outside.
‘Everyone else has been delivered,’ he says with a smile. ‘Just you and me kiddo.’
I gratefully allow him to lift the dresses from me and lie them carefully in the back of the taxi.
‘Wait, come with me,’ I say, and run back inside.
‘We don’t have much time,’ he calls after me, but runs through the lobby after me anyway. When he gets to the dressing room he sees me beginning to lift Frannie’s wedding dress from the railing.
‘Brilliant idea,’ he says, and takes the end, so we can carry it off the ground between us, me holding the hanger, him holding the train.
‘Frannie can put it on for the photos in the garden,’ I say, ‘it seems a shame to leave it hanging there.’
We place it in the back seat of the taxi with the care of someone laying down an ancient, crumbling artefact.
I climb in beside it, holding the other dresses in my lap and George gets in the front. The taxi driver takes us right to the door of the chapel. George pays him as I begin to carefully lift the dresses and jewellery out of the car. He hurries to help with them when Theo comes out of the chapel.
‘Oi,’ George yells, ‘look away!’ Theo spots the pile of white fabric and panics, turning around and staring stupidly at the wall.
‘I didn’t think you were bringing it,’ he said.
‘Neither did I but Hydie was determined.’
‘Where is Frannie?’ I ask.
‘In the little bit where the bridal party are supposed to wait so the groom doesn’t see them,’ he says, shuffling round to avoid looking at the dress as we walk past, ‘as if we haven’t spent the last two hours running around with each other. But tradition is tradition, I suppose.’
We get past him and quietly move along the back of the chapel, trying to avoid the guests seeing us. The church is packed, every row is filled to bursting with Frannie and Theo’s families, and some of their friends who had flown in that afternoon for the reception, but were now in time to attend the whole thing.
We go through a small wooden door and find Frannie and her father, along with Nisha and Lila in a warm, cramped room where a stylist is dabbing gloss onto Frannie”s lips.
Frannie looks up at her brother who walks ahead of me.
‘George you’ll have to stay out, there’s not enough room for more people in he-’ she falters, as I follow him, her wedding dress coming into view. ‘You brought it up’ she says.
‘There’s probably no time to put it on now,’ I say, ‘but let’s come back here and get you into it for the evening.’
Nisha stands up and pushes past her, back to her old self. She grabs the two bridesmaid dresses from George and presses one into my chest.
‘No time,’ she says. ‘Change, now. Men out.’
The two men and Lila vacate the room and Nisha and I quickly pull off our clothes and slip into the dresses. The stylist quickly dusts our faces with powder and applies mascara and shimmering highlighter to each of us. Before she leaves she hands me a brush which I hastily pull through my hair as Nisha tucks her short hair behind her ears.
‘You both look beautiful,’ Frannie says, and turns me round away from her, quickly and carefully weaving my hair into the loose braid her mother would do for me when I was young. She turns me back to face her, pulling out a few pieces of hair which frame my face. Nisha steps in and puts her arms around both of us. She’s never hugged me tightly before, and I feel the firm squeeze of her fingers around my shoulder as she kisses us both gently on the cheek. Frannie puts her arms around us both and I do the same, and we stand for a few moments in a silent embrace until a quiet knock sounds from the other side of the door and we separate. Nisha opens the door for Frannie who steps outside. I follow and Nisha closes the door behind us.
Frannie’s father is almost in tears the second he lays eyes on her. He puts his hands tight against his mouth and shakes his head, apparently lost for words. Frannie laughs and puts her arms around him.
‘Dad I’ve been wearing this the whole day.’
He takes the pocket square from his suit and quickly dabs at his eyes.
‘I know,’ he says, ‘but you were gone for five minutes and I forgot how beautiful you looked.’
I catch Lila rolling her eyes and have to press my lips together to keep from laughing.
George pokes his head back around to speak to us.
‘They’re ready when you are,’ he says, ‘you look beautiful.’
I turn to smile at the group, and my heart jumps when I realise that he is looking straight at me.
‘You know you can say that to all of us if you like,’ Nisha says slyly, and Georgeshoots her a look. I realise he’s embarrassed, and I spare him by catching Frannie’s eye and smiling, pretending I haven’t heard any of it.
‘One last thing,’ Frannie says. She ducks back into the room and brings out the jewellery boxes our bracelets are in. ‘I got Abuela to bring these from the house when we collected her.’ She opens the cases and I see both her and my new bracelets, slender and beautiful. And nestled within them, the original charm bracelets, chunkier, less expensive looking, but still beautiful in their own way.
Frannie puts my new bracelet on my wrist, and hers on her own. Then she lifts out the originals and puts them on Nisha and Lila. They were sized for children, so Frannie’s old bracelet just fits on Nisha’s adult wrist, clasped at the last link in the chain. Mine fits Lila perfectly.
‘We’re ready.’ Frannie says.
‘Good. On the music.’ George gives her hand a squeeze and leaves, his footsteps fading as he walks back up the altar to where Theo is standing with his best man. We shuffle into formation. Lila is at the front with a basket of dried flowers, me and Nisha behind her, and Frannie and her father at the back. The piano starts the traditional Bridal Chorus song, and Nisha gently pushes Lila in the back.
‘Not too quickly,’ she whispers, and Lila steps out and walks carefully up the aisle, casting the flowers in arcs across the flagstone floor. I see Camilo and his family in the aisle and watch as Lila gives him a friendly smile before walking past, scattering petals elegantly, her little head held high.
Nisha and I follow close behind, and I walk past the beaming crowds of Frannie’s family. As Lila reaches the end of the central passage she turns and walks quickly to her grandmother, who gathers her up into her lap.
I stop at the altar and turn to see Frannie and her father walking up the aisle towards us. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and look to see Theo wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.
‘He saw her half an hour ago,’ Nisha whispers out of the corner of her mouth, but I think it’s sweet. When Frannie reaches the altar the priest sends us to our seats and the ceremony begins.
The service is beautiful, a blend of traditional and secular elements in the music, the non-Biblical readings in English, and the Priest”s words in Spanish. Each guest is able to follow along in printed pamphlets laid on the seats which have pages dedicated to each language the guests speak. I stand and sit as required, and scan across the people gathered, taking in the emotions of the room. Theo’s mother is sobbing as her husband rubs her back, the Flores parents are beaming, Sameera resting her head on Roberto”s shoulder. Lila sits beside her mother who strokes her hair thoughtfully. I catch George’s eye as I’m looking over, and smile back when he grins at me. Things feel different now. Both from when I was a child and from the ups and downs of our months reconnecting. For so long he had been something out of reach, because I was too young, or not good enough, or just separated by things left unspoken. When I smile at him now, I’m not smiling at him with hope, or need for approval, but because I’m glad to be there with him.