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Aisha smiled at Gabi. “I’ll wait in reception for you,” she said.
Gabi grabbed her shorts and T-shirt.
“It was lovely to meet you,” Nana said.
“You too.” Aisha headed towards the door.
One of the waiters arrived with a stack of dishes balanced on various parts of his arm, and Gabi stared from the food to Nana. There was a line of dishes on the bar, all presumably destined for their table. She cursed silently.
“Go,” Nana said and waved Gabi away. She looked towards the door that Aisha had exited through. “Now is a good time for you to enjoy yourself.” She studied the tapas, looked up at Gabi and smiled. “Go, go.”
Gabi kissed Nana on the forehead. “I love you,” she said.
Nana brushed her off and ate a shrimp off a pincho. “Delicious.”
Gabi ran back to her room and dressed. Maybe buying an apartment here was a stroke of genius, because it would mean she could be friends with Aisha. She didn’t know Aisha well, but she hadn’t let Gabi down. Aisha had intended to be true to her word, unlike Shay had ever been, and it had just been circumstances that had stopped her coming to the square. Her heart had raced seeing Aisha at the poolside, and that feeling didn’t come from nothing. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, Gabi had felt it when she’d watched Aisha dancing on that first night, and in the awkwardness when they’d drank coffee. She couldn’t be sure because the line between love and lust merged, and she’d got it wrong before. Anyway, she was getting ahead of herself and needed to slow down. She trembled inside as she headed towards the reception.
12.
THE PUNGENT SMELL OF raw onions, the thick cigarette smoke, and the sickly fried fat odours started to clear thanks to the increased airflow through the narrow openings in the top of the bus’s windows. Gabi swallowed the last bite of the tortilla she’d struggled to eat since they’d got onto the bus. She sat back, thankful for the window seat Aisha had insisted she take and gazed through the scratched glass. These seats were designed for children, though being this snug against Aisha was worth the unpleasant journey.
The bus passed through what Aisha said was the main street of Sacromonte, where most of the tourists came to experience traditional flamenco, though the best flamenco took place in their homes further up the hill on a night after work. The bus continued along an increasingly narrow and winding road further into the hills. They took a sharp bend with a severe drop, and the tortilla did a quick flamenco with the acid in Gabi’s stomach. If she’d known what was involved in getting to Matías’s workshop, she would have suggested waiting until after her lunch had digested.
“That’s the Alhambra,” Aisha said. “You have to visit it sometime.”
She pointed across the centre of the bus towards the reddish stone fortress opposite them. Gabi got a whiff of vanilla perfume and closed her eyes to fully appreciate the gentleness and warmth it evoked.
“The poets named it ‘a pearl set in emeralds,’ because it stands out from the forest of English elms around it.”
“We English get everywhere.” Gabi smiled and focused on the dark green trees densely packed around the palace. The vista was set in a deep blue backdrop that rose from the hills. “It’s pretty.”
“Yes, it is. ‘Verde que te quiero verde,’” she said.
“Nana said that earlier. Does it mean something?”
“It means everything. Lorca wrote many poems about passion and love. He was the Gypsy Poet. He is one of my favourites.”
Gabi loved the way Aisha spoke, full of admiration and excitement, and with a certainty that Gabi wished she had. “I never read poetry,” she said. “I flunked school, to be honest.”
“Poetry is the language of love. I have a small collection of books. I learned English reading them. I could show you the best second-hand bookshop here.”
Gabi nodded. She wasn’t into reading, but she’d go anywhere if it meant she could spend time with Aisha. “I’d love to.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at ten-thirty?”
Gabi smiled. “You’re going to introduce me to poetry?”
Aisha smiled. “Yes. I wish I could have met Lorca. My abuela did. The elders sat with him on many nights and talked and listened.” She glanced around the bus and leaned closer to Gabi. “He was murdered by Nationalist forces during the Spanish Civil War.”
“My grandparents were murdered by them too.” Gabi took a deep breath as Aisha leaned against her arm. War was cruel, and both their families had suffered at the hands of the authorities.
“The civil guards were evil,” Aisha said.
Gabi had avoided them on the street. In their green uniforms and baseball caps, with guns at their side, she was sure they would eagerly use, given the smallest excuse. “They’re still scary here,” she said.
“Is it the same in England?”
“No. The police don’t normally carry weapons, and they don’t patrol the streets like they do here. At least, not where I live. It’s a quiet village, and you get more of a feeling of safety and support than fear.”
