Долорес Редондо – Offering to the Storm (страница 9)

‘Yes, but Ros clinched the deal on their first meeting,’ replied Amaia gaily.

Flora stared at Ros, who avoided her gaze, walking over to the coffee machine and setting out some cups.

‘Do you want coffee?’ she said, almost in a whisper.

‘Yes, please,’ replied Amaia, eyes fixed on Flora.

‘No, thanks,’ said Flora. ‘I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your precious time,’ she added, rising from her seat. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I came here to arrange Ama’s funeral service.’

The remark took Amaia by surprise. The notion of a service had never entered her head.

‘But—’ she started to protest.

‘Yes, I know, it isn’t official, and we’d all like to believe that somehow she managed to scramble out of the river and is still alive, but the fact is, she probably didn’t,’ she said, staring straight at Amaia. ‘I’ve spoken to the magistrate in Pamplona in charge of the case, and he agrees that it’s a good idea to hold a service.’

‘You called Judge Markina?’

‘Actually, he called me. A charming man, incidentally.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘But, what?’ demanded Flora.

‘Well …’ Amaia swallowed hard, her voice cracking as she spoke: ‘Until we find her body, we can’t be sure she’s dead.’

‘For God’s sake, Amaia! You saw the clothes they dragged out of the river. How could an old, crippled woman have survived that?’

‘I don’t know … In any case, she isn’t officially dead.’

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ Ros broke in.

Amaia looked at her, astonished.

‘Yes, Amaia, I think we should turn the page. Holding a funeral for Ama’s soul will close this chapter once and for all.’

‘I can’t. I don’t believe she’s dead.’

‘For God’s sake, Amaia!’ cried Flora. ‘Where is she, then? Where the hell is she? She couldn’t possibly have escaped into the forest in the dead of night!’ She lowered her voice: ‘They dragged the river, Amaia. Our mother drowned, she’s dead.’

Amaia squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Flora, if you need any help with the arrangements, call me,’ said Ros calmly.

Without replying, Flora picked up her bag and strode to the door.

‘I’ll tell you the time and venue as soon as I’ve arranged everything.’

With Flora gone, the two sisters settled down to drink their coffee. The atmosphere in the office was like the aftermath of an electrical storm, both women waiting for the charged energy in the air to subside and for calm to be restored before speaking.

‘She’s dead, Amaia,’ Ros said at last.

‘I don’t know …’

‘You don’t know, or you haven’t accepted it yet?’

Amaia looked at her.

‘You’ve been running from Rosario all your life, you’ve become accustomed to living with that threat, with the knowledge that she is out there, that she is still out to harm you. But it’s over now, Amaia. It’s over. Ama is finally dead, and – God forgive me for saying so – but I’m not sorry. I know how much she made you suffer, what she almost did to Ibai, but I saw her coat with my own eyes: it was sodden with water. No one could have climbed out of that river alive in the middle of the night. Trust me, Amaia: she’s dead.’

Amaia parked her car opposite Aunt Engrasi’s house and sat for a while, enjoying the golden glow illuminating the windows from inside, as though at its heart a tiny sun or fire were perpetually burning. She gazed up at the overcast sky; night was falling, and although the lights had been on all day, it was only now that they shone in all their glory. She recalled how, as a child, she’d look forward to the occasions when her aunt would ask her to take the rubbish out because it meant she could steal away to the low wall down by the river. She’d sit there, entranced by the sight of the house all lit up, until her aunt began calling for her. Only then would she go inside, her hands and face burning with cold. The sensation of returning home was so intensely pleasurable that she turned it into a custom, a way of drawing out the joy of re-entering the house. She thought of it as a kind of Taoist ritual, one that she’d carried into adulthood, only abandoning the habit when she became a mother. She so longed to see Ibai that no sooner did she reach the door than she would rush inside, eager to touch her son, to kiss him. Tonight, rediscovering this secret, magical game, she reflected on the way she clung, to the point of obsession, to those rituals that had kept her sane through her traumatic childhood. Perhaps it was time for her to leave the past behind.

She climbed out of the car and made her way into the house.Without stopping to take off her coat, she entered the sitting room, where her aunt was clearing up after her game of cards with the Golden Girls. James was holding a book, distractedly, watching Ibai who was in his baby hammock on the sofa. Amaia sat down next to her husband and took his hand in hers.

‘I’m so sorry, things got complicated. I couldn’t get away.’

‘That’s okay,’ he said, without conviction, and leaned over to kiss her.

She slipped out of her coat and draped it over the back of the sofa, then gathered Ibai into her arms.

‘Ama’s been gone all day, and she missed you, did you miss me?’ she whispered, cradling the boy in her arms. He grabbed a strand of her hair, tugging it painfully. ‘I suppose you heard about what happened at the funeral parlour this morning,’ she said, looking up at her aunt.

‘Yes, the girls told us. It’s a terrible tragedy. I’ve known the family for years, they’re good people. Losing a young baby like that …’ Engrasi broke off to go to Ibai and tenderly stroke his head. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’

‘No wonder the father went mad with grief. I can’t imagine what I’d do,’ said James.

‘The investigation is ongoing, so I can’t comment – but that isn’t the only reason why I’m late. Clearly, she hasn’t been here, otherwise you’d have told me already.’

James and Engrasi looked at her, puzzled.

‘Flora is here in Elizondo. Ros was in a real state when she called me – apparently, the first thing Flora did was stop off at the bakery, just to wind her up. Then, when I arrived, she announced that she’d come to arrange a funeral service for Rosario.’

Engrasi stopped ferrying glasses back and forth, and looked at Amaia, concerned.

‘Well, I’ve never had much time for Flora, as you know, but I think it’s a great idea,’ said James.

‘How can you say that, James! We don’t even know for sure that she’s dead. To hold a funeral would be utterly absurd!’ exclaimed Engrasi.

‘I disagree. It’s been over a month since the river took Rosario—’

‘We don’t know that,’ Amaia broke in. ‘The fact that her coat was in the water doesn’t mean a thing. She could have thrown it in there to put us off the scent.’

‘To do what? Listen to yourself, Amaia. You’re talking about an old lady, wading across a flooded river in the dark during a storm. You’ve got to admit, that’s highly unlikely.’

Engrasi was standing between the poker table and the kitchen door, lips compressed, listening to them argue.

‘Highly unlikely? You didn’t see her, James. She walked out of that clinic, came to this house, stood where I am now and took our baby boy. She trudged for miles through the woods to get to the cave where she intended to offer him up as a sacrifice. That was no feeble old woman – she was determined and able. I know, I was there.’

‘It’s true, I wasn’t there,’ he replied tersely. ‘But if she’s still alive, where has she been all this time? Why hasn’t she turned up? Scores of people spent hours searching for her, they fished her coat out of the river – she must have drowned, Amaia. The Guardia Civil thinks so, the local police force thinks so, I spoke to Iriarte and he thinks so. Even your friend the magistrate agrees,’ he added pointedly. ‘The river swept her away.’

Ignoring his insinuations, Amaia shook her head and carried on rocking Ibai, who, disturbed by their raised voices, had started to cry.

‘I don’t care. I don’t believe it,’ she muttered.

‘That’s the problem, Amaia,’ snapped James. ‘This is all about you and what you believe. Have you ever stopped to think what your sisters might be feeling? Has it occurred to you that they could be suffering too, that they might need to walk away from this episode once and for all, and that what you believe or don’t believe isn’t the only thing that counts?’

Ros, who had just come in, was standing in the doorway looking alarmed.

‘Everyone knows you’ve suffered a lot, Amaia,’ James went on, ‘but this isn’t just about you. Stop for a moment and think about what other people need. I see nothing wrong with what your sister Flora is trying to do. In fact it might prove beneficial to everyone’s mental health, including mine, which is why I’ll be going to the funeral, and I hope you’ll come with me, this time.’

There was a note of reproach in his voice, and Amaia felt hurt, but above all shocked that James should bring up a subject she thought they’d resolved; it wasn’t like him. By now, Ibai was screaming at the top of his lungs, wriggling in her arms, upset by the tension in her body, her quickened breathing. She held him close, trying to calm him. Without saying a word, she went upstairs, ignoring Ros, who stood motionless in the doorway.