Lilia's Secret (21 page)

I smiled up at him.

Magdalena dished out some soup for us and I produced the
photograph I had found in Lilia's drawer. The two of them squinted over the faded portrait of Lilia with her children.

‘If only they had eaten more I could see them better,' complained Padre Miguel at the small figures.

Magdalena shook her head in excitement. ‘It's Lilia's firstborn,' she said, pointing in wonder.

‘And that must be the little tiger before it got its claws,' said Padre Miguel, sticking his finger on the baby.

‘So we know the girl lived for a few years, anyway,' said Magdalena.

‘She's about three years old,' I suggested. ‘Why doesn't anybody know about her?' I asked Magdalena.

‘The old ones might have, but there are none to answer now.' She looked at me. ‘Have you asked Ramiro?'

I nodded. ‘Nothing. Says she might have been sent away; that she just disappeared.'

‘There couldn't have been a funeral then. Ramiro would have known about that,' said Padre Miguel. ‘Maybe she
was
sent away. Maybe she lives.'

We locked eyes.

‘The soup is a lot spicier now,' said Padre Miguel, rubbing his hands together.

The fans were whirring furiously in Santa Maria's car-rental office, but they hardly made a dent in the heat. Bill sat on the wooden bench with his handkerchief by his side, swiping his face every few minutes. The woman behind the counter had said she could help and had disappeared to check the records. Yes, a gringa had hired a car two days before, she poked her head through the door to confirm. Just a few more minutes and she would know who it was and when the car was due back.

Bill looked at his watch over and over again. He tried holding his tongue against the back of his teeth to stop exploding. He'd seen that on
Oprah
in the dark post-retirement days. Some woman was cussing out her kids all the time and that was the answer for her.

Ten more minutes went by and then ten more. The woman emerged from the back smiling. ‘See, see. I told you I could help.'

Bill was pleased he could now understand simple sentences. He waited for more and she nodded behind him. He swivelled around. Angela walked through the door, letting it bang behind her.

‘Angie. I've been trying to find out when you'd get back.'

She ignored him and walked over to the counter with her rental documents.

‘You didn't tell me where you were going.' Bill had been worried but it was coming out of him as anger.

‘Monterrey.'

‘Teresa told me.'

The woman at the counter no longer looked triumphant. She had her head down and was processing as fast as she could. Angela sat down on the other side of the wooden bench to wait. After a moment she started chewing on her nails.

‘Why do you do that?' Bill asked gently. After his conversation with Maddy he was determined to put the argument with Angela behind them.

‘What?'

‘That thing with your nails.'

She finished biting the fingernail and shrugged.

‘It shows the world you've got an untidy mind,' he said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

‘Can't help yourself, can you?'

‘What are you doing here, Angela?' He sighed. ‘Why did you come all the way down here – just to argue?'

‘It was a mistake.'

Bill swiped at his face again. What do you say in these situations? Nobody had argued with him for years. Carole and he had come to an understanding when they were younger, or maybe they'd just stopped talking about anything difficult. They lived such separate lives they could do that. Money bought you space to live alone in, even within your own family. Did that mean they'd stopped talking about anything meaningful?

Bill put his face in his hands.

‘I didn't mean that, Dad,' Angela said, gently now. ‘I wanted to see you.'

‘Why?'

‘We were worried about you.'

‘Worried?'

‘You were in a bad state before you left.'

‘What?'

‘It's not a crime,' Angela said. ‘You don't have to always be “up”. Having a hard time is part of life.'

Bill was about to retort that it wasn't her place to lecture him when Angela added, ‘Besides, I thought if you were on your own, away from home, we might actually be able to talk, spend some time together.'

‘We've spent time together.' He couldn't help his defensive tone.

‘When?' She looked back at him with the challenge. He held her gaze and clicked through his mental files. He could only think of that incident just before he'd left.

‘Why were you crying in your bedroom?' He asked quietly.

‘I can't tell you, Dad.'

‘I'm your father.'

She clucked her tongue. ‘You never get it. Why would I tell a stranger my innermost pain?'

He missed a beat then heard himself say, ‘I'm sorry, Angie.' Suddenly he felt relieved. He'd found the right thing to say. It tasted different, it was so new on his tongue. That was another thing he hadn't done for years, apologise. ‘You're right – we haven't spent enough time together.'

He wanted to reach over and push her hair away from her
face, but he quashed the urge. Angela crossed her legs under her on the bench. Like a hippie, thought Bill before he could stop himself. He was so critical. Was he like that with all his girls? Hil and Laura were on the right paths; Angela was the most in need of correction. He caught his thoughts. ‘Correction'? She was twenty-two years old.

‘Do you remember my tenth birthday party?' she asked.

Bill grunted.

‘Nobody came. The streamers were up all around the garden and we waited and waited. But nobody came.'

He did remember now. She'd been so crumpled when he saw her in bed that night. ‘But they rang. The road was closed, remember?'

‘No,' she said. ‘What road?'

‘The police were looking for a burglar.' Bill frowned. ‘They closed the roads.'

‘I don't remember,' she said.

He put his hand over hers.

‘You weren't there either,' she pulled away.

‘The road was closed for me too,' he said quietly.

‘Why didn't you ring?'

‘I did. I spoke to you.'

She shook her head. ‘I can't remember.'

He leant away again, and his eye caught on something.

‘What's that?' He pointed to her necklace.

‘My ruby.'

‘You're wearing a ruby down here?'

‘I wear my ruby everywhere, every day. You know that.'

He didn't. ‘Sure, sure, just thought it was unusual down here where it would be such a temptation. Where'd you get it?'

‘Grandma gave it to me.'

‘What? My mother?'

‘When she came to live with us,' Angela said.

‘She had dementia.'

‘No,' Angela smiled for the first time. ‘She and I had a good time together. Don't you remember? I used to run around and around her until she'd pretend to fall down.'

‘You must have it wrong, Angie,' he said gently. ‘My mother didn't talk for thirty years.'

She laughed. ‘Maybe not to you.'

Bill considered taking offence but decided against it.

‘Your grandmother had a ruby hatpin, not a necklace,' he said harshly.

‘Yeah, Mom and I got it changed for my sixteenth birthday,' Angela replied.

He'd always known there'd been a whole world lived in that house that he didn't know about. He rubbed his chin.

‘Why you and not Hilary or Laura?' he finally asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Grandma thought I was the most like you. She said it all the time. “Willy would do it like that too,” or “That's a Willy face.” Angela laughed. ‘I used to love it when she said that.'

Bill frowned. What was true and what was her imagination?

‘She asked me to look after you, you know,' Angela said. ‘I was eight. And she died right after that.'

‘That's ridiculous, Ange,' Bill said. ‘No one asks an eight-year-old to look after a grown man.'

‘She did,' Angela said. She was infuriatingly calm. ‘You were always so “right”, Dad,' she went on. ‘Couldn't fault you. But we didn't see much of you. We took our last holiday together just
before Grandma died. Mom had it all planned, remember? We went by car because she thought it would be good having all that time to talk. You hardly said a word though, and after a day I was fighting with Hilary because she had more space than me, and you blew up. You yelled at Mom for making you drive so far. That was it, we never went on another holiday together and you worked the rest of the time.'

Bill remembered that holiday. He should have cancelled the vacation at the last minute because of the Johnson account, and hadn't because Carole had put so much time into planning it; but he'd worried the whole time. It was the only account he'd ever lost in his whole career.

‘Grandma gave me her hatpin when we got home from that vacation,' Angela was still talking.

Could it be true? Bill wondered. His mother had sat by the window day after day in their apartment. He couldn't remember where she'd sat after she'd moved in with him and Carole.

‘I don't know, Ange,' he protested. ‘You were just a kid at the time. You forgot that we spoke on your birthday; you could've gotten other things wrong too.'

‘Dad, you were hardly ever around.' Angela's voice was rising.

‘Yes, I was.'

‘Such a goddamned hypocrite.' She stood up and paced up and down. Well, he couldn't be responsible for her bad memory. She was standing in front of him now and the woman was looking at them. Why didn't Angela just calm down?

‘Sit down,' he said in a voice that sounded, even to him, like a hiss.

She paced. The woman behind the counter disappeared into the office behind. He imagined her peering through a hidden hole.

Angela's eyes narrowed. ‘And you …'

Bill suddenly wanted to stop her from going on, but she was too far away. ‘You're a living corpse. The only real connection you've made recently is to your dead father and his lover!'

‘How can you say that?'

Angela strode over to him. ‘Where is it?' She was putting her hands in his pockets and he was slapping her hands away.

‘There,' she said. ‘There.' She stabbed her finger at the photograph of Lilia that Bill always carried.

‘I wonder what Mom would think.' Angela stared at him. ‘You think you're so moral and so right! You disgust me. You've done exactly what your father did. You've abandoned your family.'

Their two angry faces were just inches away from each other.

A man put his head through the door. ‘Is the señora in?' he asked.

Angela backed away from Bill. ‘Yes,' she nodded. She turned back to the counter and signed her papers. The woman came out and said something sharply to the man, who nodded and left. Angela followed him without looking at her father.

As I closed the door to Marta's house I heard Padre Miguel's booming laugh coming from the kitchen. The spring inside me loosened a notch.

‘Hello, hello,' I said, as breezily as I could as I crossed the room to greet Marta with a kiss. I didn't know how you greeted a priest, but kissing didn't seem the right way. I sat down on Marta's side of the table, reaching out to pour myself a lime-juice lemonade.

‘You're the one I've come to see,' Padre Miguel said.

I nodded over my glass, smiling. ‘An honour,' I said.

‘This will surprise you. You have a telephone call.'

Relief flooded through me. Why didn't I think of asking Andrés to call the padre's place? Andrés was incredible. I could depend upon him to come up with a surprising way to solve a problem. He always got what he wanted. When we were on an island in the Pacific where there were no cars or motorbikes for rent, he came back from a walk on the first day dangling car keys and grinning like a hunter hefting the next month's food supply on his shoulder. He'd knocked on door after door until he'd found somebody willing to rent their car to him privately. His resourcefulness was one of the things about him that made me laugh out loud.

‘He'll be calling back in an hour,' the padre said.

I grinned and squeezed myself. He wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of tracking down the local priest if he didn't still want to be with me.

‘He's an odd fellow,' Padre Miguel said.

I frowned. People usually warmed to Andrés immediately.

Padre Miguel grinned. ‘Lilia's mysterious grandson. The recluse … Juan de Las Flores.'

‘Juan,' I repeated, wrinkling my forehead in disappointment. It took a moment to adjust, but then I jumped up. ‘Let's go, let's go,' I said. ‘We don't want to miss him.'

Padre Miguel looked at his watch but got up without protest. On the way out the door he fished in his robes and brought out a handful of lollipops for Marta's kids. Their faces lit up. No wonder he was so popular.

Magdalena answered the phone when it finally shrieked. Padre Miguel had taken off again – he was always going somewhere. I forced myself to sit on the stool until Magdalena called out to confirm that it was for me, then I picked up the extension in the office and for a moment took in the silence. ‘Juan?'

‘I remember him,' he said.

‘What?' I asked.

‘It must have been him.' Juan's voice was flat. ‘He looked like any of the other
bandidos
who came to our place. He came once a month like the others. He never brought Javier or me anything – no little presents, no stopping to pat us on the head or show us some magic trick to please us, nothing. Nothing to show he was anything more to us than the other
bandidos
.' Juan stopped for a moment before going on. ‘Except one time. I never understood this before. One time …'

‘Juan …'

‘Yeah,' he muttered. ‘One time. She came out of the house screaming. He was past the fountain, halfway to the front door. He stopped. I was in the tree, high up in the branches so I could see his face well. He didn't even flinch as this force of fury raced towards him. There were men behind him and they stepped back, but he held his ground.

‘She stopped so close they were almost nose-to-nose, and she screamed at him. He didn't say a word. She slapped him and punched him and he just stood there looking over the top of her head at the house. Then she reached up and with her hands tried to get them around his throat. That's when he reacted. He pushed her to the ground and called her a whore. He said she was lucky he didn't kill her.

‘Then something worse happened. He strode towards my tree. I squeezed my eyes closed and waited. But he didn't beat me. He stood under the tree and emptied his pockets. Coins and notes rained out. His face was like a stone. I remember him saying, “This is for you, this is for your brother, God help you both.” And then he was gone.'

‘How old were you?' I asked.

‘I wouldn't have been more than six.'

‘How much money was there?' I asked.

‘Don't know. I don't even know if Javier knew. The money stayed there for days.'

It was my turn to be silent. At least I'd known my father. And I couldn't remember ever being scared of him. When he was angry he used to yell at us, ‘I'll skin you buggers alive,' but we knew he never would.

‘Are you sure it was him?'

‘No,' Juan said. ‘But it makes sense.'

I murmured in agreement.

‘I remember something else, too,' Juan said. ‘Something nicer.' I let my breath go.

‘Go on,' I prompted.

‘I remember somebody's arms around me,' he said. ‘There's the sound of a river, the sun is warm, I am lying on her arm listening to the water.'

‘Who is she?'

‘It could be my mother.'

‘It sounds lovely,' I said. My mother had too many children and too little time for sitting beside a river stroking a child's back.

‘And I remember Lilia used to brush her hair. She had this big wooden brush. The woman had long long black hair, draped over the back of the chair. It was like black ribbons of water.'

I pushed the receiver against my ear until it hurt, and still I could hardly hear his voice.

‘I remember her humming as she brushed this woman's hair.'

‘Is this a memory, or a dream? I asked.

‘It's a memory,' he whispered.

‘Juan, we have to find out who your mother was and what became of her.'

He didn't reply.

‘Juan, please come and help me.'

‘No,' he said faintly. ‘No.'

‘Does it help to remember her?'

‘No,' he said again. ‘It makes me want to cry … For the first time in forty years.'

‘Shit, sorry, Juan. Sorry.'

‘What do you know of the consequences of stirring up the dead? You're just a gringa.'

‘I'm not a gringa,' I said automatically. I smiled. ‘But even a pretend gringa can be sorry.'

‘I know she can,' Juan said, but I could hear the weariness in his voice. ‘You can call me when you know more.'

I put down the phone and slumped over the table, my cheek against its surface.

Juan's pain was big in me. He had compressed himself into the most confined corner possible in this world. He breathed shallowly and didn't make demands. But making his presence so thin meant he had no shell, no membranes to protect him.

I bit my lip. I knew I did the same thing. Folding myself into the smallest possible place to live. It was a covert strategy though. I carried my ‘smallest place' within me where nobody could see it. At least Juan had the courage to show the world what he was doing. Observing him made me realise how futile this path was. I didn't know another way though. I could have sharpened knives on my need for Andrés in that moment.

When I'd first heard of Lilia the picture had seemed clear. She was bad. Maybe even evil. She was like those stories I'd fixated on in the newspaper before I'd left Australia. There was good and evil, but you knew what was in which corner. I'd struggled to keep Lilia in her corner. But not even Juan could do that now. He could see her singing and soft with his mother. Maybe there were no corners.

I longed to distract myself with scratching but my wrist was healing. Magdalena's little jar of miracles had done the trick. I
missed that irresistible scratching urge. It was as though a sense of drama had dissipated. And all that was left was numb despair.

The front door slammed and Padre Miguel appeared beside me, with Magdalena behind. Despite everything I felt a little lift.

The padre grinned at Magdalena and turned to me. ‘You won't feel as bad as you look when I tell you this,' he promised, fishing in the folds of his soutane and pulling out a scrap of paper. ‘This,' he waved it with a flourish, ‘was won through patience, diplomacy, negotiation. This is gold!'

He put the scrap of paper in front of me. There were eight digits written in a row.

‘A telephone number?' I asked.

He nodded. ‘A telephone number of the illegitimate daughter of one of Lilia's husbands.' He was triumphant.

Magdalena and I squealed.

‘One of them
cheated
on her?' I asked.

‘Brave man,' commented Magdalena.

‘Brave and foolhardy,' added Padre Miguel. He sat down opposite us. ‘There is, however, one rather unfortunate fact that will dampen our enthusiasm.' His face darkened. ‘It was her fourth husband.'

Magdalena and I looked at each other, calculating. ‘Oh, no,' we both said in unison. I put my hands over my face. ‘It's not …?'

Padre Miguel nodded. ‘Bill's father had an affair. With the maid. Bill has a half-sister.'

‘Are you sure?' Magdalena pulled at Padre Miguel's sleeve. ‘Who told you?'

‘My lips are sealed.' He waved his hand. ‘The sacred bond of the confessional.'

I shook my head.

‘No wonder you're a priest, Padre Miguel,' Magdalena said. ‘It's a job made for nosy parkers.'

He allowed himself a grin before becoming solemn again. ‘Getting this information wasn't easy.' He shook his head. ‘But it is solid. My informant is old. She is too close to death to trifle with the truth.'

‘Does the illegitimate daughter live here?' I asked.

He shook his head again. ‘She lives on the other side of Monterrey.'

‘Does she know about Bill?' asked Magdalena.

‘I think “no” would be a safe answer. Nobody in Aguasecas knew about Bill until he arrived,' said Padre Miguel.

‘Will she talk?' I asked.

‘She's not from here,' said Padre Miguel with a wink, ‘so she's not bound by the eleventh commandment found in Aguasecas, “Thou shalt not speak of Lilia de Las Flores.”'