2 Kids and Cake

Mama Ufarte’s Lemony Sponge Cake

 

Joe and I were mesmerised. We leaned further over our terrace wall, watching the scene playing out in the street below.

“Your Grandmother!” shouted the Fish Man again, and turned back to his van.

“¡Madre mía!” Papa Ufarte shot out of the house with Mama Ufarte close on his heels.

“¡Madre mía!” echoed Mama Ufarte, the curly-haired toddler still glued to her hip, her free hand over her mouth.

The Fish Man hurriedly unlocked and swung open the back doors of his van. The smell of fish wafted up to us. The men from the truck stopped unloading furniture into the street and came to assist. We couldn’t see the contents from our lofty vantage point until the men hauled something weighty out. It was an armchair.

And that was the first sight we had of:

Family Member (9)
Granny Ufarte: Grey hair, black clothes, shawl around her shoulders, rug on her knees, heap of knitting in her lap, fast asleep and snoring in the armchair.

The children continued playing, unconcerned, as the men lifted the armchair, complete with snoring Grandmother, out of the fish van and into street. The old lady twitched a couple of times, then carried on sleeping, head lolling, mouth wide open revealing bright pink gums.

“Vicky, can you believe that?” mouthed Joe and raised the binoculars to his eyes again, training them down on the street below. It was a bone of contention between us that he utterly refused to wear glasses, maintaining that his eyesight had remained unchanged since the 1980’s.

“Pardon?” I said, absorbed by the tableau unfolding.

“I said, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?” Joe roared above the music.

At that precise moment, Papa Ufarte leaned into the minibus and switched off the music. Joe’s shout echoed round the valley. Ten heads lifted to see Joe and I leaning unashamedly over our balcony wall, the binoculars still glued to Joe’s eyes and trained down to watch the activity.

Ten mouths gaped up at us. Even Granny Ufarte opened her eyes for a full fifteen seconds before sinking back into slumber.

Joe guiltily dropped the binoculars from his eyes. I struggled to compose myself.

“Er... Buenos días,” I called down, and was alarmed to hear my voice coming out as a croak. “Do you need any help?”

The two little fairies lost interest and went back to their dolls and make-believe world. The older boy drummed his football against our front door, making me wonder if even a tiny scrap of varnish would remain. His little brother, Scrap, tried in vain to intercept the ball, teeth clamped onto the dummy in his mouth. The Fish Man and workers resumed unloading, lifting out dressers and chests and setting them down in the dusty street. Granny Ufarte slept on, and the temptress was still in the house. Only Papa and Mama Ufarte and the babe continued staring, faces uplifted. The babe pointed a fat finger up at us in wonder. Mama Ufarte’s pretty face broke into a smile of recognition.

“Ah, you must be the English!” she said.

Joe and I nodded in unison, a double-act.

“If you need anything, just ask,” I said, face still glowing red with shame. Nobody likes to be caught spying.

“Gracias,” said Papa Ufarte. “Thank you, we most certainly will.”

We waved and backed away from the balcony wall, out of sight, ashamed and embarrassed. We weren’t to know that we had yet to meet the last, and smallest member of the family, the one that was going to give us more problems than all the others combined.

If we’d continued watching, we’d have seen what was to prove Joe’s nemesis being carried into the house next door. Blissfully ignorant, we returned to our kitchen and made more coffee.

“Well!” I said excitedly. “How embarrassing that they caught us staring down at them! But what a family!”

“Goodbye peace and quiet,” said Joe, shaking his head miserably.

“But weren’t those twin girls just beautiful in their fairy costumes? I bet even their parents have a job telling them apart.”

“Hmm... I think our life is about to change,” muttered Joe darkly.

“Oh, don’t be silly! They’re just a lively young family. Except for Granny Ufarte, of course. I don’t think she’ll be very lively by the looks of her, poor dear.”

“How do you know they’re called ‘Ufarte’?”

“Well, I don’t, but that was written on the side of the truck. I’m just assuming they’re all Ufartes, even the Fish Man. You know how Spanish families stick together and help each other out.”

“You mark my words,’ said Joe, tapping the teaspoon against his cup. “Things around here are going to change. Dramatically.”

I ignored him and prattled on. “And weren’t the two little boys gorgeous? It’ll be nice for Little Paco next door to have some more friends to play with.”

From the kitchen we could hear the muffled thud of the football hitting our wall in an endless, rhythmic tattoo.

“Soccer crazy,” said Joe.

“You’re over-reacting as usual. They live next door, not in our house! And they’re probably just weekenders like most of the other villagers. They won’t affect us. We’ll probably hardly see them.”

My last words were drowned out by a hammering on the front door. Joe dropped the teaspoon with a clatter, and for a few seconds our eyes met.

“I’ll go,” I said at last.

Standing on the doorstep was almost the entire Ufarte clan. Only Granny and the seductress were missing. And, of course, the smallest, hairiest member of the Ufarte family who we had yet to meet. I gaped for a second, collected myself and smiled. I hope I looked welcoming, but I suspect I looked a little shell-shocked.

¡Hola! Do come in...” I said, but the fairy twins, the oldest boy and Scrap already had. Over my shoulder I saw them cantering toward the kitchen as though they already knew the way. Papa and Mama Ufarte, still holding their youngest, stayed on the doorstep.

Mama Ufarte bent forward, babe leaning out of the way, and planted kisses on both my cheeks, Spanish style.

“My name is Maribel,” she said. She gazed fondly at the baby in her arms and ruffled his curly hair with her free hand. “This little boy is Sergio.” The toddler solemnly stared at me, examining every wrinkle on my face. Maribel half turned, indicating her husband. “And this is my husband, Juan.”

Juan stepped forward for the kissing ritual, his beard lightly brushing my face.

“Enchanted,” he said. I flushed as I caught myself wishing I was a few decades younger.

“Er, I’m Vicky. I must say - you have a lovely family. Please, come in and meet my husband, Joe.”

“Later, Veeky,” said Juan, in his deep, golden voice. “We have just brought the children to you. We will go down the mountain and do some shopping. The children will stay with you. We have heard you like children.”

“Oh yes, we love children, but...”

“They are very good children,” smiled Maribel. Even in this moment of confusion I was struck by her typical Spanish comeliness. Her black hair gleamed with health and her skin was the colour of dark honey. She had the grace of a dancer as she disentangled little Sergio’s arms from her neck and peeled him off her hip. She held him out to me and I instinctively took him. Sergio wound his fat little arms round my neck, his legs round my waist, and studied my face at close quarters.

Abuela is taking a siesta in her chair in the shade. She won’t wake until we get back. And she will guard the furniture that is still in the street.” Maribel pointed. I could see Granny Ufarte’s armchair parked beside the mound of furniture. “Grandmother sleeps a lot.”

“But...”

“We are very lucky to have such fine neighbours. Everybody in the village says you are very good people,” said Maribel, and Juan nodded in agreement. “We will see you later, when we have finished our shopping.”

Juan nodded again, and walked away down the street. Maribel blew an airy kiss to little Sergio and followed her husband.

“But...” I tried, but got no further, partly because I was lost for words, and partly because little Sergio had pushed a fat, grubby finger into my mouth.

“Well!” I said to Sergio, extracting his finger. “Let’s see what’s happening in the kitchen. Let’s go and find your brothers and sisters.”

I heard the activity long before I reached the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, my eyes swept the scene before me. The fairy twins were cross-legged on the floor, Joe squatting with them. Cupboard doors hung open, and most of my saucepans and wooden spoons were already spread all over the tiles. My heart sank. Where was the orderly kitchen I had left just moments before?

“Um, we were just playing Cooking,” said Joe, looking up at me a little guiltily. The fairies didn’t look up, they were far too busy.

“And the boys?” I asked. I was feeling a little weak.

“Outside. In the garden.”

The bang-bang-thud of the football as it ricocheted off the walls and my cherished raised flowerbeds and plant pots made me wince.

“Would you believe it? Their parents have gone shopping,” I said in English. “And left all the kids with us...”

“I know,” said Joe, beating an imaginary cake mix with my silver soup ladle. “The kids told me.”

“It’s a bit of a cheek, though, isn’t it?’ I said, removing little Sergio’s chubby finger from my ear. “I guess that young lady went shopping, too. You’d have thought she’d stay behind and watch the kids.”

Not a lot we can do about it,” Joe shrugged. “Anyway, it’s nice to have little kids around, I suppose. Didn’t I tell you things were going to change?”

I sat down with Sergio on my lap and watched the fairies playing. They were totally immersed in their game. Fairy #1 cracked an imaginary egg into a bowl, while Fairy #2 stirred.

“We’re making bizcocho,” announced Fairy #1, glancing up.

“Like Mama’s,” said Fairy #2.

“You can have some when it’s ready.”

“But only when it’s cooled down.”

“Or you’ll get a sore tummy.”

“Because it’s not good for you to eat warm cake.”

“But if you’re good...” Fairy #1 wagged her finger at Joe and me, “you can lick out the bowl.”

“But only if you’re very good.”

“And you must save some for Sergio.”

In spite of myself, I was enchanted. These little girls were repeating word for word what they’d heard their Mama say a thousand times as she baked.

“Well, you’re both doing a grand job!” said Joe, getting up and stretching. “I can’t wait to taste it when it’s ready.”

I stood up and unwound Sergio’s arms from my neck and stooped to place him on the floor beside his sisters. Sergio screwed his face up, sucked in an enormous breath of air, opened his mouth wide and howled.

“You cannot put our little brother down,” said Fairy #1 crossly.

“He does not like it,” said Fairy #2, shaking her head.

“Can’t he walk?” I asked, hurriedly gathering Sergio up again as he took a long, deep breath for the next howl. Aloft again, Sergio’s bawls instantly ceased.

“Yes, he can walk,” said Fairy #1, stirring energetically with my best egg whisk before waving her magic wand.

“But he does not like it,” said Fairy #2, busily pushing back a curtain of hair from her eyes.

“He screams when he is put down.”

“So Mama always carries him.”

“Hmm...” I said grimly. “So I see.”

Sergio, restored on my lap, amused himself by fiddling with my hair.

“I shall call you Snap-On,” I told him in English. Snap-On stared back at me and thoughtfully stuck his finger up my nose.

“He’s like a growth,” muttered Joe in English. “I think the only way you can remove him is surgically.”

“What are you saying?” asked Fairy #1 suspiciously.

“We do not understand what you are saying,” said Fairy #2.

“Oh, we were just saying what a big family you are,” said Joe, in Spanish.

“Yes,” I chimed in. “There’s your Papa, Mama, your abuela, big brother...”

“Jorge...” said Fairy #1.

“And your little brother...”

“Scrap,” mouthed Joe.

“Carlos,” corrected Fairy #2, frowning at Joe.

“Then there’s little Sergio here...”

“Snap-On,” said Joe, taking a risk.

Snap-On stopped exploring my nose for a moment, sensing he was the centre of attention.

“And the new baby,” said Fairy #1.

“In Mama’s tummy,” explained Fairy #2, patting her own little flat one.

Joe and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Another on the way?

“And Tía Lola, though she doesn’t live with us all the time.”

“Ah, Tía Lola. Does she have a boyfriend?”

Tía Lola has loads of boyfriends.”

“I’m sure she does...” said Joe, dryly.

“And don’t forget Fifi!” said Fairy #2.

“Oh no, you mustn’t forget Fifi!” The fairies were adamant, even stopping their cooking to ensure we didn’t forget Fifi.

“Fifi? Who is Fifi? Where is she?” I asked. “Is she another sister?”

The fairies rolled their eyes and shook their heads and wings in unison but an explanation was not forthcoming. I was about to question them further when it suddenly dawned on me that the bang-bang-thud of the football outside had stopped. Anybody who has been a mother, or in charge of children, will relate to this - when children go quiet, alarm bells ring. There is usually trouble afoot. And there was.

Not a sound came from the boys in the garden, no voices, no football being kicked.

“Quick, Joe, take Snap-On.” I hissed. “There’s something not quite right in the garden. I’d better get out there and take a look.”