The Snow Gypsy(99)

“I think I’m pregnant.”



Rose was glad the tapas bar was so crowded. The babble of other people’s conversations drowned out the incessant whispering inside her head. The voices that taunted her for being so stupid, for throwing caution to the wind despite the lucky escape with Cristóbal. What had possessed her? How had she ever imagined it would be safe to have sex with Zoltan without taking any precautions? Was she so unhinged by the ordeal of Nieve’s illness that she believed the simple rules of human biology no longer applied to her?

“You must try to eat something.” Lola was looking across the table, her eyes round with concern. “You have to keep your strength up.”

“Do I?” Rose pushed the mixture of shrimp and asparagus around her plate. “Why? I’m not going to . . .”

“Don’t say that.” Lola glanced over her shoulder. “That’s not really what you want, is it? To go back to England to find some . . . butcher?”

“No . . . I . . .” Rose heaved out a sigh, pushing the plate away. “I’ve always longed for a child. You know how I feel about Nieve. But how could I . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Lola dropped her voice to a whisper. “How could you have his baby? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes,” Rose murmured. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I suppose my mother said the same thing to herself. If there had been any choice, I would never have been born.” Lola lifted her glass of wine to her lips. “What matters is how you bring a baby up. What values you can give to him or her—not what kind of person its father was. I hope I’m proof of that.”

Across the room someone knocked a plate off the table. It fell onto the tiled floor with a terrific crash. Instinctively Lola turned to the source of the noise. When she looked back at Rose, the chair was empty.

Lola found her crouched on the floor of the bathroom, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Rose! I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“Y . . . you didn’t,” Rose mumbled. “Wh . . . what you s . . . said—I . . . I needed to hear it.”



It was three weeks later that the letter from Rose’s publisher arrived. He had written to say that he loved the idea of a book about herbal remedies for humans. The letter contained an advance that would tide her over until well after the baby was due.

“We’re going to be all right, aren’t we?” She passed the check to Lola, who passed it on to Nieve.

They beamed at each other as the child read the amount out loud. “What’s that funny squiggle in front of the number?” She thrust the check up to Rose’s face.

“It’s a pound sign—in England we have pounds instead of pesetas.”

“How much is it—in pesetas?”

When Rose told her, Nieve gasped. “Just for writing a book?”

“It’s going to take me quite a long time.” Rose smiled.

“And when she’s finished it, she’s going to need a rest.” Lola scooped Nieve up and sat her on her lap.

“Why?”

“Because next year—in the spring—Auntie Rose is going to have a baby.”

Nieve turned to Rose, her mouth open. “Will it be a girl or a boy?”

Rose laughed. “I don’t know! We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Can I choose its name?”

“Well, if it’s a girl, yes, you can—but if it’s a boy . . .” Rose glanced at Lola. “I already have a boy’s name.”

“I think I can guess,” Lola said. “Nathan.”

Rose nodded. “And his middle name will be Joseph, after my father.”

Nieve was staring at her. “But the baby won’t have a father, will it?”

“No, cari?o—but it’ll have me and you and your mama. It’ll have a family.”





Chapter 38

Pampaneira, Spain: February 2001

Wild rosemary is in flower along the road that winds up the mountain, the pale lilac petals interspersed with the darker purple hue of lavender and the bright amber of marigolds. Rose smiles as she glances out the window of the car, thinking what a good thing it is that a road now connects the villages of the Alpujarras. At eighty-five, she’s a little stiff to go anywhere on the back of a mule. But wild horses would not have prevented her from making this journey—and she knows that Lola feels just the same.

After decades of hiding the past away, the Spanish authorities are finally facing up to what happened during the Civil War. It’s the children and the grandchildren of those who died who have campaigned for change. They want answers. They want proper burials for the dead.

Petitions have been sent to the government, and a new law has been passed. And so today, in Pampaneira, people are gathering to see the remains of those who were executed in the ravine laid to rest in proper graves.

As the car rounds a tight hairpin bend, Rose glimpses a field of almond trees whose branches are covered in blossoms. In the wind they look like brides dancing with confetti in their hair. And further on are groves of orange trees, heavy with ripe fruit.

“Are you okay, Mama?” Nathan catches her eye in the rearview mirror. “It’s a bit like being on a rollercoaster, isn’t it?”