The Legacy of the Bones. Dolores Redondo

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СКАЧАТЬ house has always been a refuge for everyone, hasn’t it? Including Ros. She hasn’t been back to her own place since what happened to Freddy.’

      ‘No, she goes round there regularly, but sleeps here.’

      They heard a soft knock at the door. Ros appeared in the entrance, pulling off her colourful woollen hat.

      ‘Kaixo,’ she said. ‘It’s freezing outside! How cosy you are in here,’ she added, peeling off several layers of clothing.

      Amaia studied her sister; she knew her well enough to notice how thin she was, that despite her luminous smile her face had lost its glow. Poor Ros, her anxieties and the sadness she carried around inside had become such a constant part of her life that Amaia could scarcely recall the last time she saw her sister truly happy, despite the success she had made of managing the bakery. Yes, there had been the problems of the past few months, her separation from Freddy, Víctor’s death … But more than anything, the sadness was part of her character. She was one of those people for whom life is more painful, who make you think they might take the easy way out if things get too difficult.

      ‘Sit here, I’m going to make coffee.’ Amaia rose to offer Ros her chair. As she clasped her sister’s hand, she saw that her nails were flecked with white. ‘Have you been painting?’

      ‘Just a few bits and bobs in the bakery.’

      Amaia hugged Ros, feeling her thinness even more starkly.

      ‘Sit down by the fire, you’re freezing,’ she urged.

      ‘I will, but first I want to see the little prince.’

      ‘Don’t wake him up,’ whispered Amaia, coming over.

      Ros gazed at Ibai, frowning.

      ‘I can’t believe it! Doesn’t this child do anything other than sleep? When is he going to wake up so that his auntie can give him a cuddle?’

      ‘Try coming to my place between eleven p.m. and five a.m. and you’ll see that, not only is he wide awake but nature has blessed him with a fine pair of lungs, and a cry that threatens to burst your eardrums. You’re welcome to come round and cuddle him anytime.’

      ‘I might take you up on that – or are you trying to scare me off?’

      ‘You’d last one night, then you’d hand him straight back to me.’

      ‘Woman of little faith,’ said Ros, pretending to take umbrage. ‘If you lived here, I’d show you.’

      ‘Right, go and buy some earplugs; you’re on duty tonight – we’re sleeping over.’

      ‘What a shame,’ said Ros, feigning disappointment. ‘It just so happens I have other plans.’

      They all laughed.

       3

       Winter 1979

      He reached out his hand, seeking his wife’s warm presence, but found only an empty space where the heat from her body had long since evaporated.

      Alarmed, he sat up, slid his legs out of bed and listened intently for any tell-tale sounds that his wife was in the house.

      Barefoot, he searched every room. He entered the bedroom where the two girls lay asleep in twin beds, the kitchen, the bathroom. He even checked the balcony to make sure she hadn’t collapsed after she got up, and was lying on the floor unable to cry for help. Part of him wished this were true, rather than knowing that she had waited until he was asleep to steal out of the house, to go … He had no idea where or with whom, only that she would return before dawn, that the cold which had seeped into her flesh would take a while to ease, lingering between them, an invisible, insurmountable barrier, as she fell into a deep sleep while he lay there motionless. He went back to the bedroom, stroked the soft pillowcase, instinctively leaning over to breathe in the scent of his wife’s hair. A guttural cry of despair rose from his throat as he struggled once more to understand what had happened to them. ‘Rosario,’ he whispered, ‘Rosario.’ His proud wife, the young woman from San Sebastián who had come to Elizondo on holiday, with whom he had fallen in love the moment he saw her, the woman who had given him two daughters, and was carrying a third in her belly, the woman who had worked alongside him every day, devoting herself to the bakery, who undoubtedly had a better head for commerce than he, who had helped him raise the business beyond his wildest dreams. The elegant woman who never left the house without looking immaculate; a wonderful wife and a loving mother towards Flora and Rosaura, so distinguished and sophisticated that other women looked like housemaids in comparison. Standoffish towards their neighbours, she oozed charm in the bakery, but avoided contact with other mothers. Apart from him, her only friend was Elena. And then a few months ago the two women had stopped speaking to each other. When he bumped into Elena in the street one day and asked her why, all she could say was: ‘Rosario is no longer my friend, I’ve lost her.’ This made all the more puzzling her nocturnal escapades, the long walks she insisted on taking alone, her absences at all hours of the day or night, her silences. Where did she go? At first when he had questioned her, her replies were evasive: ‘Out walking, thinking.’ Once, half in jest, he had said: ‘Can’t you think here with me, or at least let me go with you?’

      She had shot him a strange, angry glance, then replied with alarming coldness:

      ‘That’s completely out of the question.’

      Juan considered himself a simple man; he realised that he was lucky to be married to a woman like Rosario, that he knew little about the female psyche, and so, filled with misgivings and guilt for what he saw as an act of betrayal, he sought advice from their local doctor. After all, the doctor was the only other person in Elizondo who knew Rosario relatively well. He had looked after her during her two previous pregnancies and attended the births. That was all, though: Rosario was a strong woman who rarely complained.

      ‘She sneaks out at night, lies to you about going to the bakery, is uncommunicative and wants to be left alone. What you’re describing sounds to me like depression. Sadly, here in the valley, that kind of affliction is commonplace. Rosario is from the coast, from the seaside, where the light is different even when it rains. The greyness here eventually takes its toll, we’ve had a lot of rain this year, and the suicide rate has reached alarming levels. I suspect that Rosario is slightly depressed. The fact that she showed no symptoms during her previous pregnancies means nothing. Rosario is a very demanding woman, but she makes great demands on herself too; I’m sure she’s a wonderful wife and mother, she looks after both the house and the bakery, is always impeccably turned out, but this pregnancy is more difficult for her because she’s no longer young. Hardy women like her see motherhood as another chore, another self-imposed responsibility. So, although she wants this baby, it has created a conflict between her need to be perfect in everything she does, and her fear of falling short. If I’m not mistaken, this will only get worse after the birth. You must be patient with her, shower her with affection and try to ease her burden. Take the older girls off her hands, hire an extra hand at the bakery, or find a home help.’

      Rosario refused even to discuss the matter.

      ‘That’s all I need, one of those village gossips snooping around my house so she can tell people what I have and don’t have. What’s this all about? Have I been neglecting the house or the girls? Have I stopped going to the bakery СКАЧАТЬ