The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,119

grabbed a couple of pastries and a large mug of coffee.

‘I probably would’ve still been there except a fly landed on my nose,’ she told Grace. ‘It should have been the most uncomfortable sleep ever, but it wasn’t. Mainly because it was totally dreamless.’

‘Ken once told me that we never have dreamless sleep,’ said Grace. ‘We just don’t remember the dreams.’

‘Either way, it was good,’ said Deira. ‘Thanks again for coming after me in the middle of the night, Grace. I was fine, but I might not have been. So it was good to know you had my back.’

‘Hey, we’re on the road together. We have each other’s backs. Are you feeling OK now?’

‘Yes. I suppose I need to put things into perspective, but I’m . . . I’m fine.’

‘Sure?’

‘Well, maybe not exactly fine, but getting there.’ She glanced around. ‘Hopefully Charlie has already left and I won’t have to see him again.’

Grace didn’t say anything about having spoken to him.

‘I’m keen to get us back on the treasure hunt,’ continued Deira. ‘Do you have your laptop?’

Grace shook her head. ‘I’m taking the no-tech rule seriously. We’ll look at it again before we leave. It was all about a poet, wasn’t it?’

‘Federico García Lorca,’ said Deira. ‘I checked him out before we had to hand over our stuff. Obviously there’s a monument of some kind to him in Granada that we need to find. We can look up how many poems he wrote. The final clue was how old he was when he died.’

‘So it’s relatively straightforward again?’

‘I think so.’

Deira drained her mug and stood up. ‘Do you want to get going?’

‘We’ve plenty of time,’ said Grace. ‘There was availability this morning, so I booked us a couple of extra treatments.’

‘You did?’ Deira looked at her in surprise.

‘I thought after last night we needed them. A massage for me and whatever you like for yourself. My treat,’ she added.

‘Oh, but—’

‘Seriously, Deira.’

‘Well . . . OK. Thank you.’

‘They’re at eleven thirty. So you’ve time to chill before then,’ said Grace. ‘See you later.’

‘I’m so glad I met you,’ said Deira, and went back to her room.

They left at two p.m., both feeling refreshed after their massages and eager to be on the road. Grace had looked at the clue on her computer and memorised it, but, as she said to Deira while they were putting their bags in the boot of the Lexus, it was surely one of the easier ones to solve.

‘And then we’re done,’ she said. ‘Unless Ken has added another one to the Cartagena folder. Which I hope he hasn’t.’

‘Are you happy it’s nearly over?’ asked Deira.

‘Yes.’ Grace spoke without hesitation. ‘It’s true that it’s made the journey more interesting – although maybe it’s you that’s done that, Deira – but I don’t want to be dancing to his tune forever.’

Deira didn’t reply. She was surprised at how suddenly Grace seemed to have moved from a woman grieving her husband, and in particular the way his life had ended, to someone who seemed to be looking to her future. It wasn’t only in the things she was saying; it was also in her body language. Her movements, always serene and graceful, were now more direct, more authoritative. Previously, she’d looked in control of herself. Now she looked in control of everything around her too.

Grace got behind the wheel and eased them out of the car park while Deira inputted the address of the hotel in Granada into the satnav. Then, for the first time since she’d handed it over to Muireann the previous day, she switched on her mobile phone.

There was a clatter of messages: a couple from Tillie checking up on how she was getting on, three from one of her colleagues at Solas regarding the exhibition they were working on, one from Gavin asking about the car insurance, and a final one from Bex the previous evening saying that she’d be getting the train home in the morning. Deira replied to Bex’s message straight away, saying that she’d been out of touch for a few hours but that Bex was to call or text any time she needed. Her niece responded almost immediately with a thumbs-up emoji and a message saying that she was feeling OK, though still a little shaky, but that she’d be fine at home now. Thanks again for the use of your house, she finished. I’ll appreciate it forever. Deira couldn’t help feeling a hypocrite, given how annoyed she’d been with Gill’s