Lauren hadn’t spoken to Cass in approximately eighteen hours, if you included the ones where she was sleeping. It was easy enough to disguise her inner mess of emotions. She took pictures, pasted on a smile and focused all her energy on making that child feel so incredibly cherished.
She knew that perhaps she was being unfair. It wasn’t clear whether she was angry, upset, sad for Vee or just plain jealous. Lauren thought that by the time the plane landed in Seville, she might have had a handle on her feelings, might have worked out how she felt, why she felt it, and would have a plan to move forward. Instead, she was stuck in stone. Cass had betrayed her friend, got knocked up by someone she hated, and it was worth it, if it kept her alive for a few more years. Like pregnancy was an anti-cancer pill.
Except, the other half of her heart argued, if that was the case, she could have given Vee away when she was a baby, and she hadn’t. It was painful to think back to that time, where Cass was such a ball of destruction and Lauren was trying to bury her fear of that wave of anxiety that seemed to crash over her. They were both alone. Cass got a daughter, Lauren had Darren, and that was how it worked out. Cass got the better deal.
Even whilst she was in a strop, Lauren managed everything to do with their travel. She found their luggage, directed them to the taxi rank, gave the name of the hotel. Even in her anger, she was efficient.
Her Spanish was rusty, but she tentatively chatted to the taxi driver, who seemed cheerfully impressed by her attempts. He offered gentle corrections to pronunciation, and asked why they were there. ‘We always wanted to come,’ she replied in Spanish, looking behind her to the two people in the back seat. Vee sat squashed in to her mother’s side, pointing out of the window at all the things they saw. Cass was distracted, stroking her hair and barely replying. She was in pain today. The set of her jaw was different when she braced herself against pain. It almost changed her face completely.
The taxi driver, Manuel, dropped them off as close to their accommodation as possible, pointing down the narrow path with vibrant-blue patterned tiles against a yellow wall.
She tipped generously, and Manuel gave her his card. ‘You need to get around, you call me, I’ll look after you. Practise your Spanish! Adiós.’ He wiggled his bushy eyebrows and jumped back into his cab.
‘Getting chatted up?’ Cass asked, trying for humour but sounding flat and tired.
‘He looks like one of my uncles.’ Lauren rolled her eyes, then waved the card. ‘But we have a cab driver for the rest of our trip.’
She hoisted a bag over her shoulder then took hold of two handles to wheel the cases behind her. Cass and Vee followed her, holding hands like trusting children trailing behind their mother.
The front of the hotel was subtle, a worn wooden sign swinging above the door that read Casa de los Sueños. Vee clapped, pointing.
‘Dream house!’ she laughed.
‘God, your Spanish is probably better than mine,’ Lauren smiled, before struggling to get through the door with all the bags. Inside, a huge reception area decorated in the traditional style, all vibrant colours and small tiles, made it look like the drawing room of a grand old villa. Huge plants stood in terracotta pots and through the back there was a large central garden with a water feature.
‘Woah,’ Vee said, looking up to the painting on the ceiling.
‘¡Buenas tardes, señoritas!’ an older lady, her greying hair tied back in a headscarf grinned at them, flinging her arms up, ‘Welcome to Casa de los Sueños. I am Nuria Lopez, and this is my home.’
Lauren smiled, too embarrassed to try her Spanish again.
‘Buenas tardes, Nuria. ¡Soy Veronica!’ Vee grinned up at the lady, hands on her hips in a Wonder Woman pose. She awaited a pat on the head and congratulations on being such a smart girl. She was not disappointed.
‘¡Muy bien!’ Nuria clapped, smiling and hooting. ‘Very impressive! You should meet my granddaughter, Isabel, she does not have much English. Be amigas, yes? Anyway, check in!’
Nuria clapped her hands, her strong, sturdy arms wobbling a little with the movement. ‘You have the apartment. Breakfast is on the rooftop bar, you are welcome to go up for drinks and tapas in the evenings. I give you a map?’
Lauren nodded, tentatively asking about a few of the local tourist spots in Spanish.
‘¿Ay, y tu? ¡Español!’ Nuria’s voice had a range of tones that Lauren wasn’t used to, high and squeaky, yet loud. It echoed sharply.
Lauren tried to explain her heritage, her father’s Spanish roots, her English mother learning the language for him. Her abuela, the woman she adored and the world she’d left behind to come to England. It had been years since she had spoken Spanish beyond singing along to the odd song. Her language skills were a jumbled mess, long pauses and stutters, and she always felt like people were looking at her when she tried. But still, she had to try, because her abuela would have wanted her to.
Nuria smiled, looking behind to Cass with curiosity. Whether she was wondering about their relationship, or how suddenly grey and worn Cass looked, Lauren wasn’t sure.
‘Juan will take your bags for you,’ Nuria nodded, before filling her lungs and yelling, ‘Juan! ¡Ven aqui!’
Lauren blinked in shock.
‘My son,’ Nuria rolled her eyes. ‘Lazy, slow boy. But guests like him.’
As Juan rounded the corner, Lauren could see why. He looked like something from the front of a romance novel, chiselled arms and a strong jaw with designer stubble. His eyes hovered on Cass, who resolutely ignored him, her eyes returning to scan him when he wasn’t looking. He nodded at Lauren and picked up their bags, loading them all up before setting off, tilting his head so that they would follow him.
She shared a look with Cass, so brief and yet completely understood. Half a smirk, the barest tilt of an eyebrow. A look they had shared a hundred times before when a cute boy had walked into the student union. For a moment, everything was fixed.
The apartment had a beautiful view over the skyline of Seville, and in the distance they could make out the cathedral, casting a shadow and demanding attention.
‘What now?’ Vee clapped her hands. ‘I’m going to order food in the restaurant, Sandy told me what to say.’
‘Sandy speaks Spanish? That’s who’s been teaching you?’ Lauren wandered back in from dumping her bag in her bedroom. After sharing the lodge, she suddenly felt so far away from the two of them. Separate, and on the outside once more.
‘Sandy lived in Spain for about fifteen years. Her husband was a Spaniard. Madrid, I think.’ Cass shuffled back on the bed, the life seeming to drain out of her the more horizontal she got. ‘She only came back when he died. Didn’t want to look at the places she loved and miss him.’
Lauren suddenly felt bad, like she should have been gentler with the older woman. Even if she was a charlatan on the beachfront with her crystal ball and incense sticks.
‘Give her a chance, you’ll like her. She’s ballsy,’ Cass said, as if reading her mind.
‘Cassy, are you going to sleep?’ Vee asked, brow furrowed in concern as she climbed up onto the bed and rested a hand on her mother’s forehead. ‘You warm?’
Cass caught her hand and placed a gentle kiss on it. ‘I’m just tired, pumpkin, it’s been a long couple of days. Lots of adventure. Why don’t you and Loll go explore a bit?’
The little girl looked put out, and Lauren couldn’t help but feel rejected as Vee shook her head. ‘No, I want all of us to go. Together.’ She reached for the ukulele and shuffled back into the space next to Cass, who placed her hand on her daughter’s ankle before closing her eyes.
Lauren, so suddenly dismissed, walked back into her bedroom and lay on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling and wondering what to do. She checked her phone, to find there had been no calls from Darren.
That sparked a peculiar disappointment. It had to be that she missed having the opportunity to reject and annoy him, rather than being lonely. But really, what had changed? She had traded one person for another. At least with Cass, came Vee. Vee who would rather sit in a hotel room than explore Spain alone with her.
It seemed she would always be in the shadow of Cassidy Jones, no matter what stage of her life she was in. Except she was Vee’s mother, and she was dying. She could almost hear Cass’s voice. It’s not always about you, Loll, sometimes people have their own shit going on.
Nodding in response to the imaginary voice, Lauren jumped up, splashed some water on her face, adjusted her ponytail and left the apartment, closing the door gently behind her. If she was going to spend some time thinking, she may as well do it with a drink in her hand and an excellent view.
The rooftop bar was everything she’d hoped for – comfy seats, a great vantage point over the city to sigh over, and no one else around. Nuria was cleaning glasses over by the bar, holding them up to the light with the ferociousness of someone who didn’t settle for less than perfection.
‘Oh!’ her face changed to a wide smile. ‘A drink? Sangria, yes?’
Lauren shrugged, then nodded, thanking her.
Sangria brought back memories of the original Veronica, her grandmother. She’d been a wild woman, liable to kiss you as well as smack you. She had a big laugh, Lauren remembered, and her solemn face would bloom when she saw someone she knew. At the weekends in the summer, there were family barbecues, huge parties with cousins and second cousins. Her dad always tried his best, but was too formal, too quiet. Lauren, back then at least, had been chatty, seamlessly fitting in with these other dark-haired kids who munched on cake and ran around causing trouble. There had always been sangria, a non-alcoholic version on the kids’ table to match the adults’. When she reached sixteen, her grandmother took her aside, a leathery hand on hers, to tell her the recipe. ‘Great sangria is not just measurements,’ she’d said, ‘it’s art.’
Her abuela’s sangria was deadly – two cups and you’d be out of it the next morning, wondering what the hell happened.
Nuria brought over a jug and two glasses, setting them down on the table. Lauren was about to mention that Cass wasn’t joining her, but the older woman sat down. Oh. Apparently she had company. Well, that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?
‘Your friend, she is sick?’ Nuria poured the drinks, then held her glass up. ‘Salud.’
Lauren sipped, the flavours creating a wave of nostalgia that crashed down over her, with just the slightest disappointment – not quite the same as Abuela’s, and she couldn’t remember the recipe.
It was gone, just like all the other things you really wished you’d paid attention to at the time.
‘Yes, she’s sick.’
‘She doesn’t have long?’
Lauren simply shook her head, ‘I don’t think so, no. We’re … we’re making memories. For her daughter.’ For us too.
Nuria nodded. ‘I know this. Me and my husband, we raise my granddaughter. My daughter, her husband, both die in a car crash.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Lauren traced the woman’s face for signs of despair or brokenness, but there were none. Only sadness and acceptance.
‘It must be hard work.’
It wasn’t what she meant, not really. She meant it must be awful to look at their granddaughter every day and see their lost child. It must be a sharp knife to the heart every birthday or Christmas or school play. Every time little Isabel would look up and think that she should have been seeing her parents.
Oh God, would Vee have that for the rest of her life? The feeling like every special event was only half a moment?
‘No, the hotel is hard work. Bossing around my lazy son, that is hard work. Raising a child … is an honour.’
They sat quietly for a moment. ‘You will look after the girl, when your friend is gone?’ Nuria continued.
Lauren had been wondering that herself. To ask would make her seem eager, like it was something she wanted. She felt guilty even thinking about it. Cass would see the desperation in her eyes. That ache to be a mother. It was too much to hope that she might be the best thing for Vee. How could she be, when she was really just an anxious young woman in the middle of a messy divorce with Veronica’s biological father? She was weak, emotional, incapable. Maybe Sandy was the better choice. But oh, how she loved her already, in that same way that she’d loved Cass – she wanted to take care of her and make her safe and stop all the destruction.
‘I don’t know. She hasn’t said.’
‘If you do, you get used to being second to a ghost. Every time you yell, her mama would have been kind. You cry, her mama would have been strong. You do everything right, and she loves you? She still wants her.’
‘I’ve been used to that all my life, actually,’ Lauren laughed, gulping down the sangria a little too quickly.
‘Some people sparkle,’ Nuria shrugged, ‘the rest of us are cleaning up when they finish shaking glitter on the floor.’
Lauren snorted again, lifting up her glass to toast the truth of it.
‘You want to make your time here special, yes? Let me help. I tell you how to make memories.’
They sat there for another half an hour, trading stories. Lauren talked about her grandmother, her kindness and strength, how inspirational she’d been. Of the business she’d started in her home town, organising the young women to form a sort of union, exporting their embroidery to the Mediterranean. When she left for England, she had left them clear instructions: always be kind but don’t be a fool. Lauren had loved to hear that as a child – that her abuela, at nineteen, had organised a business, helping women support themselves, and had negotiated with buyers and tourists and anyone else she had to in order to get them paid.
Lauren was so sure she would do amazing things too. Her father said her grandmother was called ‘the terrier’ in her town. Once she got her teeth into something, she never let go. She was the same right into her eighties. Organising days out for her group of friends, getting a sneaky discount on the side. She’d died after a night of dancing, a glass of port by her chair and a smile on her face.
Classy even in death.
Lauren told Nuria all of this, wrapping the stories around her like a patchwork quilt, snuggling down in their familiarity. She hadn’t had anyone to tell in a long time.
‘She was called Veronica?’ Nuria asked. ‘Like the little one?’
Lauren nodded. ‘Coincidence.’
Nuria didn’t look so sure. ‘Your friend, she is a strange one.’
‘She is. But she’s also a bit magic.’ Lauren felt better for her loyalty. The sunshine washed the streets in an orange-gold hue and she didn’t want to close her eyes for fear it would be dark again, and the day would have gone.
It was nice to know she could talk to people, she could look after herself and be interesting enough alone. She didn’t need to be anyone’s sidekick.
Years ago this would have felt impossible, sitting chatting to a stranger, not wondering what they thought of her or how she might screw it up. She attributed it to being around Cass – growing sassy and strong again, the way she’d been before, when she had her by her side. Remembering that you could say what you felt, when you felt it, and the world wouldn’t end.
‘Tonight, you go to the flamenco. Find the magic. I make it happen for you.’ Nuria patted her hand as she stood up, ‘You need to live too.’
It was a strange thing to say, Lauren thought as she sipped the dregs of her sangria. They had finished the jug between them, gradually, barely noticeable, but time had passed and she had been allowed to air the memories of her grandmother, her mother and her uncles, their loud brashness and silly stories. She needed to live too. What a strange thought.
So many years had passed just plodding by, it was almost impossible to think. They had celebrated birthdays, and New Years, and Christmases and anniversaries. They had noted time moving on just like everyone else. But heartbeats keep better time than clocks ever could.
And the last time Lauren felt alive was at nineteen years old, holding Cass’s hand as they danced wildly into the early hours. When Cass squeezed her hand and grinned and screamed that she was beautiful.
Everything else was just pretty packaging and good intentions. She hadn’t been alive for a very long time.
*
Lauren took time getting ready that night. She wasn’t competing exactly, but it felt important to start making an effort again. Sure, all her clothes were still muted colours, but speaking a language she hadn’t used in years had awakened something. Given her access to a different part of her.
Her father always joked that people had different personalities in different languages. He said when Lauren’s mother had spoken Spanish properly for the first time all those years ago, her temperament was different to her inherent Britishness. The way certain languages made your lips move, it was impossible to fight it.
Lauren felt it in herself, a kind of sassiness in the way she rolled her tongue, or moved her hands. It was like remembering a dance, you had to be confident even when you were fudging the steps. She wore a black wrap dress and took the time to curl her hair, outlining her eyes in black liner to draw attention to how dark they were. She looked ‘the part’ as far as she was concerned, and when she looked in the mirror, she dared to smile at her reflection – she looked pretty. She would never turn heads or stop traffic, but she didn’t always have to be in the shadows.
Cass made an effort too, reinvigorated by her afternoon siesta. There was more colour in her cheeks, and when Lauren had returned, throwing a cereal bar onto the bed, she’d eaten it with enthusiasm and a smile on her face.
Cass wore colours like they couldn’t clash. Her pale pink top was starting to hang off her, but she ignored it, pinning it along with the waistband of her royal blue trousers. Her ballet pumps were green with gold spots. Somehow, though, Lauren didn’t feel drab in comparison; she felt like a counterbalance. An equal opposite. They needed to be on either side of the spectrum to keep everything working.
Vee wore her rainbow dress, the vertical stripes rippling as the skirt swirled out around her. She was her mother’s daughter – this child would never be forgotten, ignored or overlooked. She wouldn’t stand for it.
They were just heading out when the computer buzzed with an incoming video call.
‘Hello!’ The screen blinked into life, a frozen bunch of fuzzy figures with a cream background. ‘Hello, can you see us?’
‘Who is that? Paul?’
‘Yes, we’re here, hold on!’ a different voice called out from the speakers as the three of them peered into the screen in interest.
The image suddenly flashed to life and there was a group staring back at them: Paul, Sandy and Barry, along with Justine and Nadia.
‘Are you in the pub?’ Cass asked, squinting at the background.
‘They changed the bloody day, can you believe it?’ Barry huffed. ‘Trying to stop us winning, that’s what it is! Getting rid of the competition!’
‘Luckily we found out just in time,’ Sandy said, getting closer to the screen, her sharp features assessing them. ‘How are you? Is everything okay? No bust-ups yet?’
‘Everyone still has all their limbs,’ Cass snorted. ‘It’s so good to see you all!’
‘You guys are all dressed up, looking lovely,’ Paul said with a wide smile, but was greeted with a glare from Veronica.
‘I don’t want to do homework now – we’re going for dinner and I’m going to have tapas,’ Vee announced with a sense of importance, looking at Paul as if she expected him to complain. He held up his hands.
‘I would not let spellings get in the way of tapas. Have some patatas bravas for me.’
Vee nodded without knowing what he was talking about, in the hopes that it would speed things up.
‘Send us a postcard, girls, we miss you.’ Barry clutched his cap in his hands, looking mournfully into the camera. ‘Now bugger off because we’ll get disqualified for using technological whoosamiwhotsits.’
‘Charming!’ Cass laughed. ‘You called us!’
‘Short and sweet, darlin’,’ he grinned. ‘See you soon.’
As quickly as they appeared, they were gone.
‘You’ve got some good people,’ Lauren said as they headed down the stairs. She kept an eye on Cass, who had been a little unsteady with stairs of late, her legs a little weaker than they used to be. She managed fine, half an eyebrow raised in annoyance at her own slower pace, and Lauren’s eyes tracing her every move.
‘Even if they’re a little overprotective at times.’
Lauren stepped back, taking the hint.
Nuria greeted them at the desk, smiling widely, arms outspread. ‘Look at you! Beautiful! So beautiful!’ She came out to walk them to the door, Vee twirling to make her skirt swirl around her.
She gave them directions to the flamenco bar, promising them a night that would show them the truth of love and passion. ‘But not you,’ she said to Vee, who grinned, ‘for you it is just pretty dancing.’
As they left, Lauren felt the eyes of Nuria’s son, Juan, watching them. But not her, of course. Cass. He watched her with the smirking interest of a twenty-something who didn’t have to worry about being rejected. But Cass didn’t look back. The only way Lauren knew she was aware was the flick of her head as she shook out her hair. The straightness of her back as she took Vee’s hand and walked out of the door, hips swinging.
The streets were narrow and cobbled, each building seeming to lean on the next as they followed Nuria’s instructions to the flamenco bar. They slipped in, Lauren explaining in Spanish that Nuria had sent them. The staff treated them like honoured guests, leading them further in to the cavernous building, the columns and tile work offering as much beauty as the stage. A band was set up at the back of the stage, and they were taken to a small, round table in the crowd.
In whispers, the staff said they’d bring a little of everything to try, as Nuria had recommended. Lauren, for once, enjoyed not being in control, letting someone else who knew better take care of them. Wine was brought over, juice for Vee, and the tasting began.
The music played in the background, the skiddle of fingers upon strings, plucked and strummed in a heavy rhythm. Warm and steady like a heartbeat, with the trills of nerves and excitement overlaying it.
The dancers took centre stage and there was a voracity, a heavy desire that thrummed in the movements of their legs, the stamping of their feet. The woman was beautiful, and not only in the colours and spots and frills of her dress. It was her strength. The way she held her arms, the sharpness of her castanets and the clack of her heels. Her gaze, too, was intense, a look of determination that bordered on hatred. Lauren wondered if this was what love was. Passion and craziness, a lack of control.
Cass, most likely, would say yes. She was staring at the stage, her look of wonder matching her daughter’s. Her concept of love had always been about power, who was in control, the follower and the leader, like the dance. Of course, Cass would love this. For Lauren, although it was beautiful, a connection to a culture she had almost forgotten, it felt … wrong. Love should be comfortable and kind, easy. Yet, really, what would she know? She had done anything for an easy life, and here she was. Maybe flamenco had a lesson to teach her.
The man joined the dance, offering a counterbalance to the woman. His strength rivalled hers, but didn’t dominate. When one pushed, the other pulled. They took turns in the spotlight, each circling the other, letting them lead the way.
It made Lauren think of Darren on the day of her graduation. He had bought her an expensive bracelet, but he was sure to tell everyone around them how much it cost, and how he could afford that because he didn’t go to university. It was her day, and somehow he had managed to belittle her, to make it about him. Her mother had been thrilled. Lauren had shaken it off, so sure she was being overly sensitive, that it was selfish to resent a gift given on a special day. Only Cass gave her a look like she wasn’t impressed.
She’d been the only person who thought Lauren could do better. Why hadn’t she heard it at the time?
Now, the signs were obvious. A handsome, charming man had somehow chosen someone quiet and meek, who would do everything she could to avoid an argument. Keep your head down, just get on with it, don’t expect too much.
Those were her mother’s words, and as much as she’d railed against them, spitting venom when they were said, apparently she had fallen in to living by them. Somewhere along the line, she’d stopped fighting. The moment she lost Cass, or just before. Expect less, be happy.
The applause rang out as they stamped their feet in time, getting faster and more intense as their arms echoed their movements. The woman’s red dress swung around her, the red flower vibrant against her black hair. I want to look like that. Like I’m powerful. The thought was gone as soon as it appeared, a whisper amongst the rhythm of the guitar.
‘I’ll be back,’ she mouthed to Cass, escaping amongst the cheers and whoops of the crowd, out into the street. She pulled out her phone and scrolled down to that number.
He answered immediately, surprise evident in his voice.
‘Lauren?’
‘Why did you choose me?’ she asked, surprised by how her voice stayed steady. ‘All those years ago, why did you choose me? I was so grateful, I didn’t think to question it.’
‘I thought you’d make a good wife,’ Darren said after a pause. ‘I knew you’d support my career, and look after me, and put me first. We may not have been crazy all-over-each-other but it was the smart choice, for my future. For both our futures.’
Oh God, he chose me like part of his investment portfolio. All those words, they just confirmed what she’d always known – she was boring, bland and straightforward. She was the smart choice. She was never desired, never wanted that way. He’d never loved her so much that he thought he’d die if she wasn’t there. It was a business arrangement without the money.
‘And you were, Lauren, you were an excellent wife. You did a great job. But I just … I see now that isn’t how you’re meant to pick a person.’
She wasn’t sure if this pain in her stomach was worse than the affair, or the new engagement. It didn’t really rival the pain she felt over Cass and all those years she’d wasted. She wanted to say it was because of him, but it wasn’t. It was because of herself. Darren hadn’t wanted Cass, he’d wanted her. So that made him the best person in the world. Even if he wasn’t.
‘Did you … did you ever really love me?’ God, she hated herself for being weak. For twisting the knife.
He paused. ‘Oh, Lauren, come on. Don’t do this.’
She closed her eyes. ‘No, I need to hear it. Do it, tell the truth.’
‘Now I know, now I’ve met someone and know what it feels like, what it should feel like … no, I never loved you.’
‘So you stood there on our wedding day and just thought, fuck it, she’ll do?’ Lauren laughed, suddenly hoarse.
‘No, I cared about you … look, I can’t go through all this again, okay? I’m getting married and I’m going to do it right this time. Let’s not pretend you were head over heels. I was just the one man who didn’t want to shag your best mate over you. It’s not my fault she made you feel like shit.’
Lauren felt her stomach clench in anger. ‘And yet … here we are. You made me believe …’
‘You made that choice, Lauren. You chose your boyfriend over your friend.’
God, when he decided to tell the truth, he really went for it. It was so exhausting to hate him, to nurture that shock and distrust. She blamed him more than Cass, and she knew that wasn’t fair. The betrayals weren’t equal – losing Cass, losing the concept of Cass, the one person who knew who she really was. That was worse. And yet, he had lied when she had told the truth. That had to count for something.
‘So how are those divorce papers coming along?’ She tried for a friendly, upbeat tone, but her voice rang like a death knell. She could hear it, that sense of helplessness.
‘Wasn’t sure where to send them.’
‘I’ll email you the address.’ She snorted to herself – he could enjoy the postage costs to Australia.
‘Where are you now?’ Darren asked, and she was honestly surprised he was interested.
‘Spain.’
‘Seeing family?’
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see, ‘Making family.’