Spanish Escape. Maisey Yates

      ‘Angela called again today.’

      ‘I told you not answer to her.’

      ‘I was waiting for my brother to ring,’ Estelle said. ‘It was Cecelia’s cardiology appointment today. I didn’t think to look when I picked up.’ Estelle could not finish her dinner and pushed the plate away.

      ‘You’re not hungry?’

      ‘Just full.’

      ‘I was thinking…’ Raúl said. ‘There is a show premiering in Barcelona at the weekend. I think it might be something we would enjoy.’

      ‘Raúl…’ She just could not sit and say nothing—could not lie beside him at night and sleep with him without caring even a bit, without having an opinion. Surely he could understand that? ‘I was riddled with guilt when my parents died.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘For every row, for every argument—for all the things we beat ourselves up about when someone dies. Guilt happens whatever you do. Why not make it about something you couldn’t have changed, instead of something you can?’ On instinct she went to take his hand, but he pulled it back.

      ‘You’re starting to sound like a wife.’

      She looked at him.

      ‘Believe me, I don’t feel like one.’

      Estelle pounced on her phone when it rang.

      ‘I need to take this.’

      ‘Of course.’

      It was Amanda, doing her best, as always, to sound upbeat. ‘They’re going to keep Cecelia in for a few nights. She’s a bit dehydrated…’

      ‘Any idea when she’s going to have surgery?’

      ‘She’s too small,’ Amanda said. ‘They’ve put a tube in, and we’re going to be feeding her through that. She might come home on oxygen…’

      Raúl watched Estelle’s eyes filling with tears but she turned her shoulders and hunched into the phone in an effort to hide them. He heard her attempt to be positive even while she was twisting her hair around and around her finger.

      ‘She’s a fighter,’ Estelle said, but as she did so she closed her eyes.

      ‘How is your niece?’ Raúl asked as she rang off.

      ‘Much the same.’ She didn’t want to discuss it for fear she might break down—Raúl would be horrified! Seeing that he’d finished eating, Estelle gave him a bright smile. ‘Where do you want to go next?’

      ‘Where do you want to go?’ Raúl offered.

      Home, her body begged as they walked along the crowded street. But that wasn’t what she was here for. She’d been transferring money over to Andrew since he’d gone back to England. The first time she’d told Andrew it was money she’d been saving to get a car. The second time she’d said it was a loan. Now she’d just given him a decent sum that would see them through the next few months, telling Andrew that she and Raúl simply wanted to help.

      It was time to earn her keep.

      They passed a club that was incredibly loud and very difficult to get into. It was a particular favourite of Raúl’s. ‘How about here?’

      * * *

      Estelle woke to silence. It was ten past ten and Raúl would long since have gone to work.

      She sat up in bed and then, feeling dizzy, lay back down.

      How the hell he lived like this on a permanent basis, Estelle had no idea. All she knew was she was not going out tonight.

      He could, she decided, dressing and heading out not for the trendy boutiques but for the markets. She just wanted a night at home—or rather a night in Raúl’s home—and something simple for dinner. There must be some subclause in the contract that allowed for the occasional night off?

      Marbella was rarely humid, the mountains usually shielded it, but it struggled today. The air was thick and oppressive and the markets were very busy. Estelle had bought the ripest, plumpest vine tomatoes, and was deciding between lamb and steak when she passed a fish stall and gave a small retch. She tried to carry on, to continue walking, tried to focus on a flower stall ahead instead of the appalling thought she had just had.

      She couldn’t be pregnant.

      Estelle took her pill at the same time every day.

      Or she had tried to.

      All too often Raúl would come home at lunchtime, or they’d be in a helicopter flying anywhere rather than to his father’s—the one place he needed to be.

      She couldn’t be pregnant.

      ‘Watch where you’re going!’ someone scolded in Spanish as she bumped into them.

      ‘Lo sierto,’ Estelle said, changing direction and heading for the Pfarmacia, doing the maths in her head and praying she was wrong.

      Less that half an hour later she found out she was right.

      * * *

      Raúl didn’t get home from work till seven, and when he did it was to the scent of bread baking and the sight of Estelle in his underutilised kitchen, actually cooking.

      ‘Are we taking the wife thing a bit far?’ Raúl checked tentatively. ‘You don’t have to cook.’

      ‘I want to,’ Estelle said. She was chopping up a salad. ‘I just want to have a night in, Raúl.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because.’ She frowned at him. ‘Do you ever stop?’

      ‘No,’ he admitted, then came over and give her a kiss. ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I’m fine. Why?’

      ‘You didn’t wake up when I left this morning. You seem tense.’

      ‘I’m worried about my niece,’ Estelle said, removing herself from him and adding two steaks to the grill.

      She was curiously numb. Since she’d done the test Estelle had been operating on autopilot and baking bread, which she sometimes did when she didn’t want to think.

      She just couldn’t play the part tonight.

      They carried their food out to the balcony and ate steak and tomato salad, with the herb bread she had made, watching a dark storm rolling in.

      Estelle wanted to go home, wanted this over. Though she knew there was no getting out of their deal. But she needed a timeframe more than ever now. She wanted to be far away from him before the pregnancy started showing.

      She could never tell him.

      Not face to face, anyway.

      Estelle could not bear to watch his face twist, to hear the accusations he would hurl, for him to find another reason not to trust.

      ‘I spoke with my father today.’

      She tore her eyes from the storm to Raúl. ‘How is he?’

      ‘Not good,’ Raúl said. ‘He asks that I go and see him soon.’

      ‘Surely you can manage to be civil for a couple of days?’ She was through worrying about saying the wrong thing. ‘Yes, your father had an affair, but clearly it meant something. They’re together all this time later…’

      ‘An affair that led to my mother’s death.’ He stabbed at his steak. ‘Their lies left the guilt with me.’ He pushed his plate away.

      The eyes that lifted to hers swirled with grief and confusion and now, when all she wanted was to be away from him, when she must guard her heart properly, when she needed it least, Raúl confided in her.

      ‘I had an argument with my