‘I can make you honey tea,’ Angela offered. ‘That is what I had when…’ Her voice trailed off as she saw the panic in Estelle’s eyes and realised she must not want anyone to know yet. To Angela it was obvious—she hadn’t seen Estelle since her wedding day, and despite the suntan her face was pale, and there were subtle changes that only a woman might notice. ‘Perhaps your stomach is upset from flying.’
‘I’m fine,’ Estelle said, deliberately taking another sip.
‘I am worried that when Antonio dies I will see no more of Raúl…’
Estelle bit her lip. Frankly she wouldn’t blame him. Because being here, seeing first-hand evidence of years of lies and deceit, she understood a little better the darkness of his pain.
‘He is like a son to me.’
Estelle simply couldn’t stay quiet. ‘From a distance?’ She repeated Angela’s own words from the wedding day and then looked around. There were pictures of Luka, who looked like a younger Raúl.
‘Raúl is here too.’ Angela pointed to a photo.
‘He wasn’t, though.’ Estelle could not stand the pretence. ‘You had a home here—whereas Raúl was being shuffled between his aunt and uncle, occasionally seeing his dad.’
‘It was more complicated than that.’
‘Not really.’ Estelle simply could not see it. ‘You say you think of him as a son, and yet…’
‘We did everything the doctor said,’ Angela wrung her hands. ‘I need to tell you this—because if Raúl refuses to speak with me ever again, then this much I would like you to know. The first two years of Luka’s life Antonio hardly saw him. He did everything to help Raúl get well, and that included keeping Luka a secret. The doctor said Raul needed his home, needed familiarity. How could we rip him away from his family and his house? How could we move him to a new town when the doctor insisted on keeping things as close to normal as possible?’
Estelle gave a small shrug. ‘It would have been hard on him, but surely no harder than losing his mother. He thought it was because of something he had said to her.’
‘How could we have known that?’
‘You could have spoken to him. You could have asked him about what happened. Instead you were up here, with his dad.’
There was a long stretch of silence, finally broken by Angela. ‘Raúl hasn’t told you, has he?’
‘He’s told me everything.’
‘Did Raúl tell you that he was silent for a year?’ She watched as Estelle’s already pale face drained of colour. ‘We did not know what happened that day, for Raúl could not tell us. The trauma of being trapped with his dead mother…’
‘How long were they trapped for?’
‘For the night,’ Angela said. ‘They went over a cliff. It would seem Gabriella died on impact. When the médicos got there he was still begging her to wake up. He kept telling her he was sorry. Once they released him he said nothing for more than a year. How could we take him from his home, from his bed? How could we tell him there was a brother?’
‘Excuse me—’
Estelle retched and cried into the toilet, and then tried to hold it together. Raúl did not need her drama today. So she rinsed her mouth and combed her hair, then headed back just as Raúl was coming out from the lounge.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘My father is going to have a rest. As you heard, my brother is coming for dinner tonight. I have agreed that we will stay.’
Estelle nodded.
‘Somehow we will get through dinner without killing each other, and then,’ Raúl said, ‘as my reward for behaving…’ He smiled and pulled her in, whispered something crude in her ear.
Far from being offended, Estelle smiled and then whispered into his ear. ‘I can do it now if you want.’
She felt him smile on her cheek, a little shocked by her response.
‘It can wait.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for today. Without you I would not be here.’
‘How is he?’
‘Frail…sick…’
‘He loves you.’
‘I know,’ Raúl said. ‘And because I love him also, we will get through tonight.’
* * *
She wasn’t so sure they’d get through it when she met Luka. He was clearly going through the motions just for the sake of his parents. Angela was setting up dinner in the garden and Antonio was sitting in the lounge. It was Estelle who got there first, and opened the door as Raúl walked down the hall.
The camera did not lie: he was a younger version of Raúl—and an angrier one too.
Luka barely offered a greeting, just walked into his family home where it seemed there were now two bulls in the same paddock. He refused Raúl’s hand when he held it out to him and cussed and then spoke in rapid Spanish.
‘What did he say?’ Estelle asked as Luka strode through.
‘Something about the prodigal son’s homecoming and to save the acting for in front of his father.’
‘Come on,’ Estelle said. There would be time for dwelling on it later.
He caught her wrist. ‘You’re earning your keep tonight.’
He saw the grit of her teeth and the flash of her eyes.
‘Do you do it deliberately, Raúl?’ she asked ‘Does it help to remind me of my place on a night like tonight?’
‘I am sorry. What I meant was that things are particularly strained. When I asked you I never anticipated bringing you here. Certainly I never thought I would set foot in this house.’
They could not discuss it properly here, so for now she gave him the benefit of the doubt. They went out to the garden, where Luka was talking with his father, and they all sat at the table for what should have been a most difficult dinner. Instead, for the most part, it was nice. It was little uncomfortable at first, but soon conversation was flowing as Estelle helped Angela to bring out the food.
‘I never thought I would see this day,’ Antonio said. ‘My family all at the same table…’
Antonio would never see it again.
He was so frail and weak it was clear this would be the last time. It was for that reason, perhaps, that Luka and Raúl attempted to be amicable.
‘You work in Bilbao?’ Raúl asked.
‘I do,’ Luka said. ‘Investment banking.’
‘I had heard of you even before this,’ Raúl said. ‘You are making a name for yourself.’
‘And you.’ Luka smiled but it did not meet his eyes. ‘I hear about your many acquisitions…’
Thank God for morphine, Estelle thought, because Antonio just smiled and did not pick up on the tension.
The food was amazing—a mixture of dishes from the north and south of Spain. There was pringá, an Andalusian dish that was a slow-cooked mixture of meats and had been Raúl’s favourite as a child. And there was
marmitako too, a dish from the Basque Country, which was full of potatoes and pimientos and, Antonio said, had kept him going for so long.
‘So you study?’ Antonio said to Estelle.
‘Ancient architecture.’ Estelle nodded. ‘Although, I haven’t been doing