Page 19 of Don’t Tell Me Who To Love

9.

GABI COULDN’T SEE WHEREthe cemetery started or finished. It appeared to stretch in all directions for miles. There must have been thousands of graves, perhaps a hundred thousand. Nana put down the bunch of flowers she’d bought. She removed a piece of paper from her handbag and studied it, then looked around.

“This way,” she said. She picked up the flowers and set off.

Gabi followed her past row after row of raised black and grey marble graves laid out in a symmetrical pattern. Each tomb had sharply cut edges, and their surfaces shone in the sunlight. The grassed areas in between were lush, unlike the dusty areas she’d seen around the city. The tall white statues added height, giving perspective, and the oldest she’d spotted was dated 1824. Life was surreal. The statue had stood for over a hundred years, and the people buried around it had probably lived less than fifty, reduced to a name that no one remembered and a date or two engraved on a plaque that faded over time, whilst something constructed might stand for thousands of years. It was bizarre, but it reinforced how important it was to savour every moment and grab every opportunity.

A wall covered with small square plaques on small square doors provided tiny homes for people’s ashes. It was spotlessly clean and dressed in fresh flowers that gave off a sweet smell. The colours brightened up the greys and whites, and it wasn’t as morbid as Gabi had expected. She hated the cemetery attached to the church near home. It was dull and not well looked after like this one. Nana was right; it was serene and pretty, and she could see why Nana had opted for a packed lunch. The cemetery was like an open-air art gallery and history museum all wrapped up in one.

Nana stopped at a raised tomb. She pulled out a delicate black veil from her handbag, put it on, and made the sign of the cross at her chest. Gabi stood quietly pondering the significance of the mark of respect. She didn’t have a veil, but she made the sign of the cross and felt the ache beneath it.

The name Flores, printed in white lettering, stood out from the centre of the black marble. This was Nana’s family plot. Angel Flores was Gabi’s great grandfather. He had died aged forty-two, and her great grandmother, Serena, had been just forty. “They were so young,” Gabi said.

“My parents didn’t support Franco. They’d planned to come to England after me, but with the war, Father thought he could do more good if they stayed and fought the regime from within. By the end, he had helped thousands of people escape through Gibraltar, including me and Miguel.”

A shiver slid down the back of Gabi’s neck, and she couldn’t stop staring at their names and the dates that marked their short lives. She couldn’t begin to imagine who he had saved, or what their children might be doing now, or where in the world they lived. Nana had lost her dad. Did his life mean anything to the people he had saved? “Sounds like he was a hero.”

“He was considered a traitor and executed, my mother with him. The government took our house and everything we owned.”

“Fuck.” Gabi’s stomach turned. He had tried to help people survive, and he had been killed for it.

“Yes, Gabriela.”

She’d known nothing about his incredible feats of bravery. “You’ve never talked about this.”

Nana took off the veil and put it back in her bag. “I think, after a time, we forget what was once important, cariño. Maybe I didn’t want to open old wounds again. We all had busy lives and a future. I’m sorry, maybe I should have said something, but when is there a right time? And then time moves on and the past gets lost.”

At one point, Nana had probably known Gabi better than Gabi had known herself, but after Gabi had moved out of the farmhouse and claimed her independence, she hadn’t talked to Nana about her personal life. The past had been left in the past, but for the occasional flick through a photo album at Christmas time, faces and names she didn’t know. It hadn’t been a conscious choice on Gabi’s part, it had simply happened that when they were together, that they talked about other things, like the garden or cooking or Gabi’s jewellery. Something had been lost between them, and Gabi hadn’t realised exactly how much Nana meant to her until now. She put her arm around her because she needed the comfort of that closeness again.

“We were in a privileged position, Gabriela. My father was trusted and well connected with the Spanish Intelligence Services. Miguel and I were able to settle in the UK. Father got Miguel a job working with the British Secret Intelligence. Together, they provided information about Hitler’s collaboration with Franco.”

Gabi’s great grandparents had been executed, and her grandpa was a spy. It was too much to take in.

“Many other families died trying to escape. They were dangerous times.”

“What about Juan? Is he buried here?”

Nana smiled softly. “Oh, no, Gabriela. He wouldn’t be allowed to be buried here.” Her wistful look gave way to a half-smile. She sighed. “When the war started, Juan and I talked about what we would like to happen to us if we died.”

Gabi stared at Nana, willing her to elaborate.

“He wanted his ashes thrown into the wind from the Sacromonte hill at a spot close to where he lived. ‘Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas.’”

Gabi choked up. She didn’t understand why Nana was quoting what sounded like poetry. “Green, how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.” But it meant something to Nana because she wiped a tear from her cheek, and Gabi’s eyes welled up. “Do you want to be buried here?” she asked.

Nana took a deep breath and held Gabi’s gaze. “I thought I would rest next to Miguel in the churchyard in Devon, but now I’m here, I’ve changed my mind. I think I want to be with my parents. This is my true home, Gabriela, and I’m glad we came.”

Gabi’s mum’s ashes were in the same churchyard in Devon, and Gabi had assumed she would follow suit, not for any emotional connection, just because that’s what normally happened. She hadn’t really given it any deep thought, because she’d never known her mum, and she was too young to think about an event that was so far off. But knowing that Nana would be buried here made her feel suddenly very alone. She didn’t want to imagine Nana being here behind some block of stone, because that would mean she wasn’t here talking to her. And that was inconceivable. She rammed the thought to the back of her mind and looked skyward. Beautiful blue skies. Air. Life. “I’m glad we came too,” she said and bit back the tears.

Nana laid the small bunch of flowers inside the plot. “I’d like to be alone for a while, Gabriela.”

Gabi walked back to the entrance with a heavy ache in her heart. Nana seemed okay seeing the graves, but this history and saying goodbye wasn’t new to her. Gabi’s legs were like jelly, and there was an uncomfortable edginess in her chest. She was shocked by her great grandfather’s story, and she felt small and insignificant by comparison. But she was also sad and nauseous. Nana had lost so many people that she loved, and one day, Gabi would have to say goodbye to Nana.

If Gabi died tomorrow, who would care? She looked back to where Nana was sitting on a bench with her hands in her lap. Nana was stoic, and kind, and the most amazing person in the world. She’d always loved her and been there for her, and never judged her. Gabi couldn’t find the words to describe what life would be like without Nana. She ambled towards the market, her heart feeling as though she’d just put it through a shredder.

She took a seat in a square she didn’t know the name of. The fountain in the centre was surrounded by a grassed area that had retained its colour, though it wasn’t lush like the grass at the cemetery. It was like the battered grass the kids played on back home when the drier weather came. Water spurted from a tall spire at the fountain’s centre and from several other lower points that formed a circle around it. The splashing noise, like a quiet waterfall, was pleasantly distracting. She threw a coin into it and made a promise to make something of her life, because she couldn’t have the one thing she would have wished for: her mum.

She made her way to the market and struck up conversation with a stall holder. His smile belied the age that his deeply creviced skin revealed. Gabi admired a series of framed sketches on fine cotton cloth that had yellowed with time.

---