Page 70 of The Moon Sister
Lucía sat bolt upright. ‘You are real?’
‘Sí.’ María reached for her daughter’s fingers and pressed them against her cheek. ‘See?’
‘Mamá!’ Lucía threw herself into her mother’s arms. ‘I have missed you so much.’
‘And I have missed you,querida mía. Which is why I came to find you. You are well?’
‘Oh yes, very well,’ Lucía nodded. ‘We work at the best bar in the whole of Barcelona. Everyone calls it the cathedral of flamenco! Imagine that!’
‘And your father? How is he?Whereis he?’ María looked around the tiny room, which had space to hold little more than Lucía and her mattress.
‘Maybe he is still out at the Villa Rosa. He brings me home to bed and then goes back to play again. It is not far.’
‘You are left here alone?’ María was horrified. ‘Anyone could walk in and steal you during the night.’
‘No, Mamá, Papá’s friend minds me when he is not here. She sleeps next door. She is very nice. And pretty,’ Lucía added.
‘And where does Papá sleep?’
‘Oh,’ Lucía hesitated. ‘Out there.’ She waved at the door uncertainly.
‘Well,’ María said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, ‘as I have come all this way, I had better go and see if he is back.’
‘Oh no, I do not think he will be, Mamá. Please, stay with me here. It is late and you can curl up on my mattress and we can hug.’
María was already on her feet.
‘Shh,’ she said, ‘I’ll be back soon.’
Outside the door, María let out a gasp of devastation. Of course Lucía may have got it wrong, but somehow she doubted it. Inwardly preparing herself, she tiptoed to the next door along, and as quietly as she could, turned the handle to push it open. The same streetlight illuminated a brass bed on which her husband and a woman – who looked no older than perhaps eighteen – lay naked on the mattress. José’s arm was flung across the woman’s taut belly, just above the down of black fur that protected her womanhood.
‘José, it’s María, your wife. I have come to visit you here in Barcelona.’
She spoke in a normal voice, not caring if every resident in the street shouted at her to be quiet.
It was the girl who opened her eyes first. She sat upright and stared at María, blinking to try and make out her shape in the darkness.
‘Hola,’ María said, striding across to the bed. ‘And you are?’
‘Dolores,’ the woman squeaked, at the same time pulling the thin bed sheet over her naked form.
María almost laughed. It was like a comedy.
‘José!’ Dolores shook him. ‘Wake up! Your wife is here!’
As José stirred, Dolores jumped out of bed and grabbed her night shift. As she reached up to throw it over her head, María glimpsed the full breasts, slim hips and smooth backside before the muslin covered them.
‘I will leave you two to talk,’ Dolores said, as she tiptoed towards the door and María like a timid fawn.
María let her pass. The girl was little more than a child after all.
‘He told me he was a widower,’ Dolores said, shrugging before she pulled the door closed behind her.
‘So.’ María strode over to the bed and stood at the bottom of it, arms folded. ‘You are a widower now, eh? Then I must be a spirit come back to haunt you.’
José was wide awake now, staring at María in abject horror.
‘What are you doing here?’
