Page 39 of The Moon Sister
I stood up, took the instrument across to him and laid it into his outstretched hands. I watched as he caressed it, almost like a mother would her child. It was an old guitar, with different proportions to ones I’d seen before, the dark wood polished to a high shine, the area around the sound hole inlaid with gleaming mother-of-pearl.
Chilly’s gnarled fingers clasped the guitar’s neck and pulled it across his chest. He swiped his fingers downwards and a hollow, discordant sound filled the smoky room. He swiped again, then I watched as he fiddled with each string, one hand testing the sound, as the other struggled to manipulate the tension.
‘¡Ahora!’ he said, having given one last strum. His booted foot began to beat time on the floor in a steady rhythm and his fingers moved across the strings as his foot pounded faster and faster. Then his fingers – that seemed as if they were released from their arthritic state simply by the joyous sound they were making – strummed at speed until the little cabin was filled with the pulsating cadences of what could only be associated with one unique sound:
Flamenco.
Then Chilly began to sing, his voice breaking at first, as tired and worn as the strings his fingers were manipulating so deftly. Slowly, the growl of years of phlegm collected from his pipe smoking dissipated and a deep resonant sound replaced it.
I closed my eyes, my feet pounding too, the entire cabin vibrating with the pulse of the music. I knew this rhythm as I knew myself, the incessant beat of the music making me desperate simply to get up and dance . . .
My arms rose above my head of their own accord, and I stood up, my body and soul responding naturally to the incredible music Chilly was playing. And Idanced– by some alchemy, my feet and hands knowing exactly what to do . . .
One last strum of the strings, an ‘¡Olé!’ from Chilly, then there was silence.
I opened my eyes, feeling breathless from exertion, and saw Chilly was collapsed over the guitar, panting heavily.
‘Chilly, are you okay?’
I went to him, feeling for his pulse, and there it was, beating fast but steadily.
‘Can I get you some water?’
Eventually, he raised his head a little and turned it towards me, his eyes bright.
‘No, Hotchiwitchi, but you can get me some whisky.’ He grinned.
9
I woke up the following morning and thought what an extraordinary day yesterday had been. With Chilly, it felt that every time I went to visit him, the entire experience had a dreamlike quality. As for Zed, I’d never had a man pay me that amount of attention or compliments and I didn’t really know how to react. Yes, he was physically attractive, but there was also something about him – about his strange . . . familiarity with me, that I couldn’t work out.
‘As if he knows me,’ I whispered to myself. One of my big problems was that I was pretty innocent when it came to men. I’d had very few relationships and I’d taken each one at face value and trusted them. I’d been burnt more than once because of that, and these days, I felt I must give any prospective suitor a number of in-depth interviews before we even reached the holding hands stage. I’d been called ‘frigid’ for my refusal to jump into bed two seconds after I’d met someone, but I didn’t care – rather that than end up loathing myself the next morning. Me and my psyche just weren’t built for one-night stands; we were more ‘forever’ love, and that was just the way it was.
I walked down to the cats and entered the enclosure, enjoying the warmth on my face as I looked up at three of them sitting outside in the sun. I chatted to them for a while as I threw in their breakfast, then walked back up the slope towards the house, opened the back door of the Lodge and went inside.
‘Beryl?’ I called as I walked along the corridor.
She wasn’t at her usual station in the kitchen, but I could tell a fried breakfast had been on the go by the pans in the sink and the smell of bacon. I went to the fridge and took out Chilly’s lunch to take to him later, then went back out to the corridor. Beryl was probably upstairs changing the beds, and I decided I’d come back this afternoon to beg access to the computer in her office so I could look up the seven caves of Sacromonte in Granada.
‘Tiggy,’ said a voice behind me just as I made to leave.
‘Hi, Beryl.’ I turned round and smiled at her. ‘I bet you’re relieved everyone’s gone and peace is restored?’
‘Well, that was how things were last night, but,’ she lowered her voice, ‘then I woke up to an email from the Laird this morning, telling me that Zed has apparently decided to stay on here for the foreseeable future. The other guests have left, but he’s still here and currently hogging my office. This huge Lodge just to accommodate one person!’
‘Zed’s decided to stay on?’ I repeated dully.
‘Yes, it seems he wishes to take a sabbatical, get away from it all for a little longer, so the Laird said.’
‘Oh God,’ I whispered more to myself than Beryl. ‘Well then, I’ll come back and beg the internet another time.’
‘By the way,’ Beryl said as I headed for the door, ‘he told me this morning that his decision to extend his stay was to do with something you’d said to him yesterday.’
‘Really? Well, I can’t think what. I’m off to see Chilly, Beryl. Bye.’
As I drove towards Chilly’s cabin, I pondered how I felt about Zed’s continuing presence, and felt a tingle of trepidation in my stomach.
‘You early,’ Chilly muttered when I knocked and let myself in. Although how he knew I was, given there wasn’t a clock in the place, I didn’t know.
