Page 6 of The Moment I Met You
I point towards the taverna tables with their red-checked cloths and unlit candles, and he acknowledges me with a relieved smile and a jaunty salute.
‘Aye aye, Captain!’ he says, leaning forward to kiss me, and to take the sombrero from my hand. ‘I’ll take that. You won’t need it when you’re talking to God.’
I watch him walk away, wait until he is seated at one of the shaded tables, and turn my attention back to the building in front of me.
The church is old, yes, and a little on the crumbling side, but it’s also decorated with ornate stone carvings, has at some stage been painted bright and vibrant colours, and has two tall towers on either corner. It looks like something from a fairy tale.
I walk up the steps, a mild aroma of wax and old incense already noticeable. It’s dark inside, the only light coming from flickering candles and the setting sun slanting down through the bell-towers, stripes of dusty yellow that break up the gloom. I catch the glimmer of gold paint and carved stone and the shine of a crucifix.
The change in temperature gives me a slight chill, and I stand still, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness. Gradually I make out more, like you do in the early morning in a curtained room, and I see that I am not alone in here.
A woman, wrapped in a black shawl, sits silently in one of the wooden pews, rosary beads clutched in her hands, mouth moving as she prays. And off to one side is the man from the coach – the one who’s here on his own. The one that Harry insists is a serial killer.
He’s probably not a serial killer, but he is dressed all in black, and would fade entirely into the diffused light if not for his hair – blonde, thick, slightly too long. He’s reading an inscription on a stone tablet set into the wall, and I wonder if he can understand it. My Spanish extends only to ordering beer and saying please and thank you, which I should rectify.
One of my alternate futures involves travel, maybe working abroad, and I’ll need a lot more than ‘dos cervezas, por favor’ if I follow that thread. Even if I don’t, it will be useful – there’s nothing to be lost by going to a night class, after all.
I don’t want to intrude on either the man from the coach or the woman praying so fervently, so I simply sit, in the calm and the peace and the cool, and try to switch off the chaos inside my mind.
Try as I might, though, I cannot find any internal serenity to match the external. I spend five minutes trying not to fidget before I realise that I am not going to achieve any state of zen, and then I become weirdly worried that I will somehow infect that place with my mood – my viral load of doubt and uncertainty – and decide to leave.
I stop first to drop a few coins into a metal lockbox, and to light a candle in memory of my dad. I can never resist – whenever I’m in a church, I have to do it, even though I wasn’t raised in a religious way at all. It just seems a simple way of showing some respect, or showing some grief, or showing some gratitude. One other candle is already lit, the flame dancing, and I light mine next to it so they can take strength in each other.
I close my eyes, and whisper my usual mantra: ‘Hello Dad – still love you. Still miss you.’
As I emerge back outside, the sun has faded even more, and the candles on the tables are being lit by a teenager holding a long taper.
I see the grill is now working over-time, flames licking and spitting, and that a trestle table has been set up next to it, laden with bowls of guacamole and salsa, and bread, tortillas and salad.
Music is being played from speakers I can’t see, and the Aussie girls are dancing around the fountain, all of them holding tall glasses of beer, looking like they’re having a blast. I might not be able to achieve a state of zen, but maybe I can just have a fun night.
I glance over at Harry sitting at a table, one of a small row set up at the side of the taverna, in the shadow of the church towers. He’s sipping his own beer, looking on as one of the Australians starts twerking while her pal takes photos with one of those disposable cameras you get on the table at weddings.
‘Are you lusting over Antipodean goddesses in short shorts?’ I say, smiling as I sit opposite him. He’s ordered a bottle of wine, which has been delivered with two glasses.
‘Of course not,’ he replies too quickly, dragging his eyes away. ‘Merely enjoying the sight of someone living their best life. Also, really impressed at how she can dance like that, and not spill a drop of her pint.’
‘Australian,’ I say, shrugging. ‘Probably learned to do that at nursery.’
He smiles and pushes a glass towards me. ‘How was it? The church? Any major karmic revelations, or just a load of candle stumps and a faint smell of decay?’
‘It was lovely, thank you very much. We can’t all be culturally defunct.’
‘I’m not … defunct. I just know what I like. Hotels that have five stars after their names. A guy came around a minute ago, said the dinner will be ready soon. We just pay a set fee and help ourselves. Smells pretty good, and I’ve got my Imodium just in case.’
‘Why are you so obsessed with that? Not everyone who goes to a foreign country gets food poisoning.’
‘From your ears to my arse, darling. And you’ve not been feeling so good yourself, have you?’
‘I think that’s just all the travel, or impending lady times, not being poisoned by guacamole.’
‘Who knows? Better safe than sorry. Anyway. Do you mind if I go and have a wander?’
‘No,’ I reply quickly. ‘Go. Fill your mind. Run free, little one.’
He grins and heads off back to the centre of the plaza. The Aussie girls are still dancing like nobody’s watching, all easy-going giggles and wriggles. One of them – a tall blonde in a neon-pink cut-off T-shirt – makes a grab for Harry as he passes, trying to persuade him to boogie with her. He laughs, and breaks out one of his very best smiles as he jumps out of the girl’s grasp and heads for one of the other little bars that has opened up onto the square.
‘Aw, come back and play, Hugh Grant!’ the blonde shouts after him, and I know he’ll be secretly delighted with that comparison.
