The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,122
kind of city where together is good.’
Granada would always have a place in her heart, thought Deira as she got ready to leave the following morning. She’d been enchanted by the bustling old quarter the previous night, the city’s Moorish culture clearly evident in the shops that opened onto the narrow streets, with their displays of aromatic herbs and spices, and glass lamps of intricate design and colour that lured you inside to find even more treasures. She’d felt the fire of Andalusia too, in the flamenco dresses in other shop windows and the extravagant fans that the local women snapped open and shut as they ate with their families in outdoor restaurants, where children, even at ten in the evening, sat in front of plates piled with calamari and tortilla. It had got under her skin in a way no other city had ever done before, and she knew she’d come back.
But as much as the night life had been fun, her visit to the Alhambra that morning had touched her soul. She’d walked through the rooms of the palace, marvelling at the exquisite mosaic work, the elegance of the tapering pillars, and the serenity that even the large group of tourists couldn’t dispel. She’d thought of the people who’d walked through those rooms before her, the people who’d lived in the palace, with their thoughts and dreams and hopes, some fulfilled, some not. We’re all just passing through, she told herself as she left. We’re nothing more than a whisper in the story of time. The thought was strangely liberating.
The sense of serenity and liberation had stayed with her afterwards when she messaged Bex to find out how she was.
Her niece FaceTimed her in return.
‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘A bit achy but otherwise fine. It was the right thing for me to do, Auntie Deira.’
It was a long time since Bex had put the word Auntie before her name. Deira smiled. ‘You look good,’ she said.
‘I had my hair done before leaving Dublin,’ Bex said. ‘There’s a salon near your house. The colourist did a great job with my highlights.’ She ran her fingers through it.
‘She did indeed,’ agreed Deira, who knew both the salon and the colourist. ‘Have you said anything to your mum?’
‘No. And I’m not going to. Ever. You have to promise me that you won’t say anything either.’
‘Of course not,’ said Deira. ‘All I want is for you to be OK, Bex.’
‘I am,’ said Bex. ‘Thanks again for everything.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. I did nothing to help.’
‘You let me stay in the first place,’ said Bex. ‘I knew I had somewhere to come back to. And when I told you . . .’ She let out a long, slow breath. ‘I had to tell someone. I couldn’t keep it in. But I knew you’d be OK about it. You always are. You’re my role model.’
‘I don’t think I’m that much of a role model.’
‘You are,’ insisted Bex. ‘You’re living your best life. Maybe it’s gone a bit wrong with Gavin and everything, but you didn’t collapse in a heap and stay indoors and sob your heart out like I would’ve done. You went off and drove through France on your own. That’s so cool.’
Deira hadn’t updated either Gill or Bex on the situation with the car, or the fact that she’d teamed up with Grace. Her niece was seeing the surface, not what was underneath.
‘You got yourself into a difficult situation and you made hard choices and you didn’t collapse in a heap either,’ she said. ‘So you’re pretty cool yourself. And I’m not perfect, not even close.’
‘That’s the point,’ said Bex. ‘You’re not perfect but you still know what you’re doing. That’s sort of why I thought it would be fine to come to your house.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ Deira wasn’t going to shatter Bex’s illusions about her. ‘What are you going to say to your mum about the job?’
‘Oh, I actually have one in Galway.’ Bex smiled. ‘I had it before I ever went to Dublin. It’s at a local recording studio.’
‘I see.’
‘Getting pregnant was a horrible mistake,’ said Bex. ‘But I don’t regret the abortion.’
‘You made a decision only you could make,’ said Deira. ‘All I want is for you to achieve everything you want to achieve.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Bex promised. ‘And by the way, you look amazing. The hair. The lips.’