The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,99

at college and had a couple of drunken one-nighters; the relationships that hadn’t gone anywhere but were important at the time; and a stupid encounter with one of her tutors that neither of them ever acknowledged again. She wondered if getting pregnant would have been the disaster she’d thought back then. Because if she’d had a baby when she was so much younger, that child would be an adult by now, and she’d have someone to call her own.

Yet if that had happened, she wouldn’t be the person she was.

And she didn’t know if that would be a good thing or not.

Deira had offered to drive to Toledo, saying that it was a short journey and her ribs were completely healed now, so it was she who brought them through a mostly uninspiring, flat landscape, with industrial estates close to the motorway and brown fields in the distance.

‘We’re driving around Madrid,’ said Grace when Deira remarked on it. ‘So I guess everything is geared towards the city.’

But as they approached Toledo, the road twisted upwards into the hills, so that when they reached the parador that Ken had booked for Grace (and where Deira had also managed to get a room), a spectacular view of the old city was spread out beneath them.

‘I didn’t realise we’d be outside the town, but it’s worth it for the view,’ said Grace after they’d checked in and were standing on the hotel’s outdoor terrace. ‘If this journey has proved one thing to me, it’s that there are some really lovely places in Spain, and I truly regret that Ken and I never made these journeys together.’

‘You should’ve done a blog of this trip,’ said Deira.

‘We should’ve, you mean,’ Grace said. ‘Women on tour.’

‘We could’ve added Ken’s treasure hunt to make it interesting.’

‘Maybe the people following us would’ve worked out the answers to the clues quicker.’

‘I dunno. We’ve solved them all in time so far.’

Grace smiled and started to take photos of the old town in the distance. Meanwhile, Deira checked her phone. There was still no reply from Bex.

Everything OK? she sent.

She wasn’t worried about her niece because she knew that her generation didn’t respond to messages straight away. But given the situation the previous day, she was surprised that Bex hadn’t updated her.

‘I was thinking of lying out by the pool for a while before going into town,’ said Grace. ‘I’m sure we’ll find the Cervantes statue easily enough, and I’d rather trek around when it’s a bit cooler.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Deira, who was still feeling tired and dehydrated. ‘Besides, I know the answer to the second part, so we’re not under any pressure.’

‘You do?’

‘You forget my artistic background.’ Deira grinned. ‘It’s El Greco, the painter. He lived and worked in Toledo. I can’t remember when he died, but that’s a quick Google search.’

‘Go, team!’ said Grace. ‘We’re totally owning this. In fact, we’re doing so well, Ken would’ve been disappointed. He’d have wanted me to struggle a bit more.’

‘Surely he’d be thrilled,’ said Deira. ‘He wouldn’t want you to miss out on the treasure, whatever it is.’

‘No,’ agreed Grace. ‘But . . . I think he thought it would be more like the treasure hunts you say he did for the students back in your day. No mobiles, no googling, just pounding the pavements.’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Deira. ‘I guess it was hard for him to construct something like that when he was confined to the house.’

‘Poor Ken.’ Grace’s face clouded over. ‘Until the heart attack, he spent most of his time at his desk. Then he became addicted to action. And then he was diagnosed and he was stuck again.’

Deira thought there was more sympathy in Grace’s voice than ever before. And it warmed her to think that her friend – because that was how she now considered Grace – was repairing her memories of her husband.

‘Anyway, I’m heading to my room now. See you at the pool later,’ said Grace.

‘Later,’ agreed Deira, and they went their separate ways again.

Grace had been amused at Deira’s suggestion of a blog, as, although she hadn’t done anything public, she’d started to email a synopsis of each day to Aline, Fionn and Regan, attaching some of the photos she’d taken. She’d started it in Bordeaux and all three of them had urged her to continue. So when she went back to her room, she composed an email about her night out in Alcalá de Henares with Deira. As well as attaching photographs of