THE SPANISH WAITER: SEVENTEEN

Slowly the truth of what happened fifteen or so years ago comes out,

“I’m fed up with all the hold-ups at airports,” sniffed Geraldine to Ivan when she arrived at the Hotel Pyramido, flustered because there had been a seeminglessly endless queue at the single manned immigration desk.

“Well, at least you’re here,” he said with a broad smile, “and you know that I’m always happy to see you.”

“Same here, I mean I like seeing you” she replied, “and Tomas says you’ve got some news for me.”

“I have,” he told her, “and I think it confirms what I’ve always said about what happened to me all those years ago. There’s a woman, maybe in her thirties, with her mother. They arrived on a coach with other people, and the coach is one local to Brumpton where I come from. I nipped to where it’s parked and checked, just to make sure.”

“What’s the origin of a coach got to do with the death of a stranger in his garage?” frowned Geraldine.

“I told you that he didn’t die when I was there, and the younger of the two women proved it. You see, she was just a kid back then, one I knew because she went to the same school as where I worked. And she saw what happened.”

“But you didn’t notice her watching or spying on you at the time?”

“She was just a kid, I suppose. And children often go unnoticed because they’re part of the landscape, especially to teachers who spend their lives almost tripping over them, like I was. And she told me… I tell you what, if I see her in the hotel before she goes, and she’s in the party that’s staying for three days, she can tell you herself. She’d bound to be in the bar sooner or later. Her mum, who seems a but strange, likes gin.”

“So do I. Does that make me strange?” asked Geraldine, smiling broadly.

“Not at all,” blushed Ivan, “I didn’t mean that because a person likes a particular drink they’re odd! But there’s a sort of distance when she looks at you, as if she’s looking beyond you, trying to see a person who might be there, but isn’t. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

Geraldine may have been going to say something else, but a woman’s voice broke into their conversation.

“Mr Maybe,” she said, “I’m so pleased to see you again. I was wondering… if what I saw when I was a schoolgirl helps you, I don’t mind repeating it to someone who matters.”

He saw Nancy smiling at him when he turned to face the sound of her voice. She was on her own, the older woman, her mother, walking unsteadily towards the door to the bar.

“Mother,” she called, “not yet!”

“Isn’t it open yet, Nancy?”

“Not quite, mum, so why don’t you sit in one of those comfy chairs while I talk to Mr Maybe. I won’t be long.”

“Like here? Yes, Nancy, like here…” replied the old woman, sounding confused but lowering herself slowly into a seat.

Nancy turned back to Ivan, and smiled warmly. Her husband must be missing her, he thought, with a smile like that.

He cleared his throat and introduced Geraldine to her, “this is a lady from the probation services back home and it was her job to look into my case,” he said. “Look: you explain to her while I go and serve your mum. It’s a gin and tonic, isn’t it? And don’t worry about paying because I’ll see to it myself. It’s been wonderful to see you again, Nancy, and the least I can do is buy your mother a drink.”

“That’s a good idea,” put in Geraldine, “you go and see to the lady while your old school pupil tells me all about it.”

“But don’t give her more than a small gin,” murmured Nancy, looking worried, “she doesn't always know when she’s had enough these days. She needs looking after in much the same way as she looked after me when I was a kiddy!”

“I understand,” murmured Ivan, and he wandered off to the older woman who clearly thought she’d been sitting down for long enough and was already trying to make her way to the bar.

“Can I help you?” he asked her, gently, “do you want a drink?”

“Nancy will buy me one,” replied Mrs Andrews, “she’s a good girl, is Nancy, and she looks after me.”

“She always was a good girl,” agreed Ivan, escorting her slowly through the door that led into the bar, which was deserted except for Andrea who was polishing a glass and looking bored.

Meanwhile, Nancy was explaining to Geraldine what she’d witnessed on the day that her teacher had allegedly put an end to the bullying Gaddy Carter.

“They drove off,” she concluded, “and looking back I know that I thought they were friends by the way they talked to each other, and then when I got to school, the next day I think it was, or the ay after that, soon after anyway, I heard that the man I’d seen being driven away by two people had disappeared!”

“And didn’t you tell the police what you had seen?” asked Geraldine.

“I tried to, but they told me to mind my own business because I was only a kid and didn’t know what I was talking about!” Nancy told her, “and that miffed me, I can assure you! Even kids know what they’re talking about! My daughter did the moment she learned how to talk!”

“That’s true,” acknowledged Geraldine, “I spend a lot of time talking to young people in my job and they always seem to know exactly what they’re talking about, even though some of them are making it up! But they have a good reason, usually, for lying, and I try to understand what’s going in behind their tales. But you’re a sensible and responsible adult and everything you say has a ring of truth to it.”

“It was weeks later when I heard that Mr Maybe had been accused of killing the man, and I wondered at the time when he had done it. At first I thought he must have gone after them when they drove off, then I learned that he wa supposed to have killed the man in a fit of temper after a row about mending the car actually in the garage, and that’s when I told the police. But the Inspector, I think that’s what he was, pooh-poohed me. He said that kids should learn to mind their own business. I can hear it in my head as I tell you now. You see, I knew Mr Maybe didn’t murder anyone, but there wasn’t a soul who would believe a word I said even though I hardly ever told lies.”

By that time Ivan returned to them and told them that as more customers were queuing at the bar he’d have to stay there if they didn’t mind.

“Of course,” said Geraldine, “and I’ll come and prop the bar up. What Nancy here told me, and I believe every word of it, means that we’re going to fight in your corner until you win!

“I’ve had enough of it,” he replied, seriously, “look, I’ve got a good job here, and I want to stick with it. The British legal system can go to hell as far as I’m concerned because, hey, it’s flawed and sometimes gets things very wrong indeed. No, I like it here. The people here are good and decent and that dreadful Inspector Hewitt might as well go hang himself!”

“But the truth is important,” Geraldine told him, “because the man you allegedly killed is very much alive, and he and his two companions are secret agents, employees of the state!”

“Supposedly on the side of law and order,” added Nancy, scowling.

© Peter Rogerson 13.11.22

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