Encarnita's Journey Read online

  ‘Certainly in good enough shape for Hubert,’ said Encarnita dismissively. Hubert was the son of the Pilkingtons, their employers. The parents were very reasonable, courteous people who believed in treating both their house and their staff well. Hubert brought friends who drank too much and picked up girls on the beach and regarded Encarnita and Jorge as servants who should be at their beck and call at the snap of their fingers. Encarnita had been tempted more than once to speak to Mr and Mrs Pilkington about them but, remembering the behaviour of her grandsons Juan and Antonio when young, had decided not to. Hubert would grow out of it, she told Jorge, who had never been married or had children and grumbled about them more than she did. Hubert’s visits were the only tiny drawback in their otherwise agreeable jobs.

  ‘How many of them are coming?’ asked Encarnita. ‘And for how long?’

  Jorge had no idea. He went out to finish watering the garden. Encarnita decided to sit on for a few minutes and read her letters. She opened Luisa’s first.

  Since Jaime had been sent to jail Luisa had come seldom to Nerja and Encarnita had gone back only once to Yegen after her visit there in 1955 so that their main contact was by letter. Luisa’s contained news about mutual friends and acquaintances, nothing else. Her life did not change from day to day.

  ‘Did you hear about Don Geraldo and his pneumonia?’ she began.

  She always began with Don Geraldo. Encarnita had heard about it on the television news. Gerald Brenan had a high profile in Andalucía now, as a well-respected Hispanist. There had been regular bulletins until he had recovered sufficiently to leave hospital in Málaga and return to his home in Alhaurin el Grande, where he lived with attendants. His young friend Lynda had married a Swedish painter and for a while they had all lived together, but in the previous year, Lynda, her husband and children had gone to live in the Alpujarra.

  ‘I hear he is looking very old and frail,’ Luisa went on. He was bound to be, since he must be nearly ninety years old and his health had never been good, although, considering that, he had fared well, better than his wife and daughter. Miranda had died of cancer in 1980, the same year as her mother, Juliana, whose closing years had been sad since for the last seven she had been blind. It was said that she had never got over the pain of losing her one and only daughter. In an earlier letter, Luisa had relayed a rumour she’d heard, which claimed that, some years before Juliana went blind, Don Geraldo had taken her to visit Miranda when she was on holiday in Granada with her French husband. There had been one condition: that Juliana would not reveal that she was Miranda’s mother. Don Geraldo had introduced her as his former maid from when he’d lived in Yegen. Could it be true? Could Don Geraldo have been so heartless? Encarnita had been upset after reading Luisa’s letter.

  She then opened the letter with the British queen’s head on the stamp. Morna wrote in Spanish, which was fortunate since she wrote immensely long letters. She liked to record her daily life in detail, almost like a diary. And at Christmas she sent a long typed screed which she called a ‘Round Robin’. Through all of this Encarnita was gradually building up a picture of the city of Edinburgh and its activities. She knew about Marks and Spencers, whose underwear Morna favoured, and Jenners department store, unique in the land, the Portrait Gallery where you could get good wholefood lunches, and Henderson’s vegetarian restaurant where you could sit for hours with friends, eat salad and drink wine and listen to people playing the guitar and the banjo. Not to mention the art galleries on something called The Mound, and the Botanic Garden which Morna frequented when she felt in need of peace and green grass under her feet. The views of the city from there were mind-blowing and never failed to inspire her. Encarnita kept all the letters; they were packed with information that would be helpful when she came to make her visit.

  Morna wanted to know when she was going to come. ‘You can’t put it off for ever. Is that what you are trying to do?’ Encarnita paused to consider. Was she? She had to admit that part of her was reluctant. She had her memory of Conal well preserved. Did she want it disturbed now, at this stage in her life? And yet. And yet… The feeling that fate would draw her there at some point had never left her. Otherwise, something would be left unfinished. ‘I know you don’t like the idea of leaving Arrieta but could your daughter not look after her for a couple of weeks?’ Morna’s letter went on. ‘Or some other relation?’

  There was no other relation. Besides, Encarnita would not go without Concepción, who, by making late additions to her family, had delayed their journey. It might be possible to persuade Emilio to look after the children for a few weeks once they were a little older.

  ‘Don’t leave it too long,’ wrote Morna.

  Encarnita read no more for now she must go and make up beds for Hubert and his guests. She had just taken the sheets out of the cupboard when she heard the electric gates whirring. Going out into the porch, she saw a car nosing its way into the drive, followed closely by another. Hubert knew the code so he would have opened the gates himself. The doors were flung open on either side and out tumbled Hubert and his friends, making a noise already.

  ‘Jorge!’ yelled Hubert. He was a tall, good-looking young man with thick blond hair that fell over his forehead and which he kept flicking back with a toss of his head. ‘Where art thou, good Jorge?’

  Jorge appeared from round the side of the garage with a rake in his hands. Small, and with a weathered, nut-brown face, he presented a strong contrast to the young Englishman.

  ‘Bring in the luggage, there’s a good chap!’ Hubert spoke his own language. Jorge knew only a few basic words of English but he understood the order. The Pilkington seniors had a reasonable command of Spanish and believed in using it. Mrs Pilkington had told Encarnita that she thought it inexcusable the way the English refused even to try to speak other people’s languages. She despaired of Hubert on that front and, perhaps, too, on others.

  Encarnita met the guests in the hall.

  ‘Ah, Encarnita, buenos dias! Qué tal?’ Hubert was showing off now but that was the extent of his repertoire. He gave Encarnita a smile that was intended to charm and that she had seen charm many young women.

  ‘Muy bien,’ she answered. ‘Y tú?’

  ‘We’re absolutely starving, Encarnita. We got an early flight. Can you be a dear and run up some breakfast for us? The food on the plane was absolutely dire.’

  ‘Not much food in house.’

  ‘She speaks English,’ said one of the girls who was wearing enormous sunglasses that covered half her face.

  ‘What a wonderful name,’ giggled another girl who was ready for the sun in a pair of bubble-gum pink shorts that barely covered her crotch. ‘Encarnita! I love it.’

  ‘They often have funny names, like Ascensión or Epifanía. A Spanish girl at our school was called Maria-Jésus. And, would you believe it, her brother was called Jésus-Maria!’

  That caused them to fold over and emit shrieks of amusement.

  Encarnita stared at them unblinkingly.

  ‘How do you mean, there’s not much food in the house, Encarnita?’ Hubert’s handsome face was drawn into a frown. ‘You knew we were coming. Mother must have phoned?’

  ‘Phone only this morning. Say you come tomorrow.’

  ‘We had a change of plan. Can’t you go and get something at the supermarket? There is some kind of supermarket here now, isn’t there?”

  ‘I ask Jorge to take me.’

  ‘Get some bacon, can you?’ He pulled a wad of notes from his trouser pocket and put some into her hand without counting them. ‘And eggs! Nothing like a plate of bacon and egg after a hard night. We had a bit of a booze-up.’

  Encarnita went to the supermarket on the back of Jorge’s motor bike. She was used to riding pillion; Jorge usually gave her a lift home after work and sometimes he took her down the coast in the evening to have a drink at one of the chiringuitos – beachfront restaurants and bars – at La Herradura. They liked watching the sun go down over the bay until the pin
k and orange streaks would gradually bleed from the water leaving it the colour of milk. It was a very calming thing to see.

  They kept company quite often, the two of them, and Jorge had asked her to marry him, but she had said that she could not leave Arrieta. She preferred, anyway, to keep their friendship as it was.

  They did their shopping and on their return Encarnita set about frying bacon and eggs. The girls sat around the kitchen table smoking and drinking coffee, saying they didn’t normally eat breakfast but they would today. The smell of the bacon was getting to them, as it was to the cook herself. She would put aside a couple of rashers for a sandwich for Jorge and herself later. The boys were in the pool, splashing about. Their voices carried. In some ways, thought Encarnita, as she cracked an egg against the side of the pan and dropped it in, it was quite nice to have young life about the house. That’s what houses were for, after all. If only they didn’t leave such a mess behind them!

  Encarnita and Jorge had a busier day than usual so did not get away until eight o’clock. It was not part of Encarnita’s duties to cook an evening meal for Hubert, a point that had been established, by her, on a previous visit. He was going out to a restaurant with his friends and afterwards they would go drinking in bars. She knew that when she came in in the morning she would find them snoring in their beds and the house upside down with odd pieces of clothing and shoes strewn about and wet towels on the floors of all three bathrooms.

  ‘Shall we go for a drink?’ asked Jorge. ‘We need it today.’

  ‘A quick one. Arrieta will be waiting for me.’ Arrieta would not fuss; she accepted that Encarnita often finished work at different times and on occasions had a drink with Jorge.

  They went to a bar near the Balcón and had a brandy. They talked about the young English people.

  ‘I expect young Spanish ones with money are no better,’ said Encarnita.

  ‘I hope Concepción’s girls don’t grow up with any fancy ideas.’

  ‘They’ve got them already. They think money grows on trees. Put your hand out of the window and pick it. Emilio is talking about sending them to an International School. As if the local one isn’t good enough for them!’

  Encarnita did not stay long. She kissed Jorge on both cheeks and left him to sit on in the bar. Some of his friends would come in later.

  She felt tired as she turned into her street. She was getting on in years so it was not surprising that she should be after a day’s work. Felipe was always telling her that it was time she retired. As she approached the door she heard children’s voices. They sounded extremely like Paulina’s and Angelina’s, querulous and complaining. Their grandmother hesitated a moment, tempted to turn and go back to rejoin Jorge.

  Bracing herself, she opened the door and went in. All the members of Concepción’s family were gathered, except for Emilio.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming. Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘Anything wrong?’ Concepción sprang up from the sofa. She was wearing her honey-coloured leather trousers and jacket and gold, high-heeled shoes. Encarnita noticed that the girls were dressed in their Sunday best, in puffed-out dresses with two layers of stiff white underskirts below, white tights and buckled, black patent leather shoes. They were each clutching a life-size doll decked out in similar clothes to their own. The boys wore their normal jeans and were slumped on the floor.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘We’ve been locked out of the house!’ Concepción almost choked on the words.

  ‘By Emilio?’

  ‘No, the Guardia Civil.’

  Encarnita thought she had better sit down. She advised her daughter to do the same and tell her, taking her time, what was going on.

  ‘They want Emilio for drug-running,’ said Roberto, before his mother could speak.

  ‘It’s all a terrible mistake,’ she cried.

  ‘But is it true that the Guardia want him?’ asked Encarnita.

  ‘Seems he’s been running drugs up and down the coast in his trucks,’ Roberto went on. ‘The hard stuff. Well, according to the two guards that came to the house. They’ve impounded everything belonging to him. The business, the lot.’

  ‘And our house.’ Concepción dried her eyes. ‘They let us leave with only what we were standing up in.’ She admitted that she had managed to slip into the bedroom and change her clothes – she had been wearing jeans when the guards arrived – and to cram some of her jewellery down the front of her jacket. ‘They’ve sealed the whole place up. They wouldn’t even let me take my car. It’s my car, I told them.’

  ‘But it was registered in Emilio’s name,’ said Roberto.

  ‘Everything is,’ said Concepción. ‘We had to walk all the way to Frigiliana and get a taxi. You know what the road’s like. I think I’ve sprained my ankle.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have worn those shoes,’ said Roberto. ‘I told you not to.’

  ‘Did you think I was going to leave them behind? They cost a fortune. Emilio bought them for me last time we were in Madrid.’ Concepción began to cry again, and so, too, did Angelina. Arrieta invited the child to come and sit on her knee but she did not want to.

  ‘And where’s Emilio now?’ asked Encarnita.

  ‘He’s taken off,’ said Roberto. ‘Can’t really blame him. If he’d hung about they’d have got him.’

  ‘I can’t believe Emilio would do a bad thing like that,’ said Arrieta. ‘Deal in drugs.’

  Encarnita could, though.

  ‘So he just went off without a word?’ asked Arrieta.

  Concepción blew her nose. ‘Actually, he left me a note.’

  ‘You never said!’ said Mario.

  ‘I didn’t want to let the guards see it.’ Concepción took a piece of paper from her pocket and read out the message. ‘Sorry, cariña. I’ll send for you and the girls when I can.’ She folded it. ‘I knew he wouldn’t run out on me if he didn’t have to.’

  ‘But, Mama, would you want to go with a drug-runner?’ asked Mario.

  ‘He’s still Emilio, isn’t he? And he’s been good to you, hasn’t he? I don’t want to hear a word against him.’

  ‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’ asked Encarnita.

  Concepción shrugged, then said quietly, glancing round to make sure the door was closed, ‘Could be Uruguay.’

  ‘Uruguay? What makes you think that?’

  ‘He’s been talking about it recently. He’s got a friend there.’

  ‘Probably another drug-runner,’ put in Mario.

  ‘Oh, shut up, Mario!’ said his mother.

  ‘In the meantime,’ Encarnita began, and said no more. What was the point? For the last five years she and Arrieta had been able to live in peace and quiet, with sufficient space to breathe, but that she could see was about to come to an end.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ said Concepción. ‘I hate doing this to you but there’s nowhere else we could go. We’ve got no money. It won’t be for long, I promise you. Emilio will send for us as soon as he gets settled. You know what he’s like, he gets on with things.’

  The trouble with her daughter, thought Encarnita, was that she didn’t think things through to the end of the line. If Emilio did manage to send for them and she was to pack up and take off with the girls, the Guardia Civil would be on their tail, to see where they were heading.

  ‘You don’t think he will send for us, do you?’ said Concepción, aggression creeping into her voice.

  ‘I’m sure he means to.’

  ‘But circumstances may not permit it?’ suggested Mario.

  ‘Shut up, Mario!’ snapped his mother again. ‘You’re too smart at times!’

  ‘Did he leave any money behind?’ asked Encarnita.

  ‘None that we could get our hands on. But we’ll manage somehow. Roberto’s working, thank God for that, at least.’

  ‘I don’t earn enough to keep everybody!’ he objected.

  Concepción turned back to her mother. Her voice softened, b
ecoming almost wheedling. ‘You shouldn’t have to give money to Felipe, Mama. Not at his age. He’s been at university long enough. He must be able to get a decent job with what he’s done already.’

  ‘He’s going to finish,’ declared Encarnita.

  ‘He won’t want to take your money once he knows how things are here.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make him take it! There’s only one thing for it, Concepción, and you know it!’

  ‘All right, all right, I’m going to get a job, so don’t start going on at me! But I don’t see how I can earn enough to support myself and the girls. They’re used to better things.’

  ‘They’ll just have to get unused to them then, won’t they?’

  ‘Then there’s Mario.’ Concepción looked at him. ‘Mario, you might have —’

  Encarnita cut across her. ‘No, he won’t. He’s going to stay on at school. And then we’ll see. He deserves his chances, too.’

  ‘You’re terribly bossy,’ grumbled Concepción.

  ‘Somebody’s got to be in this family or we’d all starve. You’d better start looking for a job tomorrow. There’s always cleaning to be had.’

  ‘I’m sure I can get something better than that!’

  ‘I want to go home,’ wailed Angelina.

  2002

  Encarnita and Concepción were spending the day in Málaga, having come in on an early morning bus. They had had lunch on a café terrace overlooking the Plaza de la Constitución with Angelina, who was living in the city with her interior-designer boyfriend. She had a job in the cosmetic department of El Corte Ingles, which she enjoyed. She was a cheerful girl and had the air of being happy with life. Encarnita thought she had the temperament of her father, Emilio.

  After their lunch Concepción had done some shopping and she was now carrying several carrier bags in each hand and complaining about their weight, especially since she was having to carry them all the way along the Paseo del Parque. Her mother was making no comment. Her only purchase had been two bars of almond and camomile soap. Good soap gave her pleasure, like good shoes.