Page 110 of The Moon Sister
Tell Angelina it was me who guided you home . . .
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Forgive me for my bad English,’ I lied to cover up the fact I was about to look like a complete idiot. ‘It’s not Geneva I want, I meant Granada . . . in Spain!’
‘Right,’ sighed the woman. ‘Now that’s a bit more complicated . . .’
*
An hour and three-quarters later, the plane bound for London Gatwick accelerated down the runway and I felt a huge pressure release from my chest. As we were about to disappear into the clouds, I looked down below me at the grey city and the snowy landscape beyond it, and blew a small kiss.
‘You were right, darling Chilly. And I promise I’ll tell them it was you who sent me home.’
21
Many hours later, my plane touched down on the runway at Granada airport. Thankfully, I’d slept the whole leg from Gatwick, so I’d had a good three-hour snooze. As I took the steps to the tarmac, the sweetest scent of warmth, citrus, and fertile land assailed my nostrils. Although it was only the beginning of February, I saw the temperature was ten degrees even this late at night, which, after my winter in sub-zero temperatures, felt positively tropical. Once through passport control and baggage, I enquired about a hotel in Sacromonte at the tourist information desk. The woman handed me a card.
‘Gracias.Er, could you give them a call to see if they have a room?’
‘No telephone at hotel, señorita. They will have room. You not worry.’
‘Right, thanks.’
I walked to the airport forecourt and headed for a cash machine to extract some euros. That done, I went outside to find a taxi rank.
‘Where going, señorita?’ the driver asked me.
‘Sacromonte,por favor, señor,’ I said, dredging up the remnants of my schoolgirl Spanish.
‘You go to flamenco show?’
‘No, to a hotel – Cuevas el Abanico.’ I handed him the card the woman at the information desk had given me.
‘Ah, sí, comprendo!’
We raced off at breakneck speed and I was sad that it was dark and I couldn’t see where I was. There was no snow on the ground, that was for sure, I thought as I removed my hoodie in the humid air. It took twenty minutes to get into the city, which seemed to have a thriving centre, judging by the number of people out on the streets, even though it was eleven o’clock at night. Then the taxi took a left along what resembled a narrow alleyway rather than a road, and we began to drive upwards.
‘We stop here, you walk, señorita. Go straight.’ My driver pointed towards an open gate set into a thick wall. ‘Five minutes to hotel.’
‘Muchas gracias, señor.’ I paid him, hoisted my rucksack on my back, and looked at the twisting path ahead of me, lit only by occasional old-fashioned lamps, with a low stone wall hugging one side of it. I listened to the taxi reversing, then disappearing down the hill. With the wound on my side throbbing, I began to walk.
I rounded a corner and there, up above me, on the other side of the valley, soft lighting illuminating its ancient beauty, was the Alhambra.
The sight brought tears to my eyes and I knew, justknewthat I’d been here before. I stood mesmerised by the ethereal vision – everything else around it was so dark that the palace looked almost as though it was suspended in mid-air.
‘Lucía danced there . . .’ I muttered, astounded that I was actually seeing what up to now, had only existed in my imagination.
I carried on along the narrow path, which curved around the mountain. Whitewashed stone dwellings fashioned out of the rock behind them lined one side of it, their colourful shutters closed to the night. Very few lights were on in any of them and I only prayed that the lady at the tourist office hadn’t made a mistake and that the hotel wasn’t closed for the winter.
‘If that’s the case, I just have to sleep where I fall,’ I panted, feeling my heart begin to protest.
Thankfully, just around the next corner, I saw some lights and a small sign proclaiming that it was the hotel I was looking for. I opened the wrought-iron gates and walked through them.
‘Le puedo ayudar?’
I turned to my left to see a woman sitting at one of the tables on the small terrace, smoking a cigarette and looking at me askance.
‘Er, do you have a room?’
‘Sí, señorita.’ She stood up and beckoned me towards the door. ‘You are British?’ she asked me in English.
