See How Much I Love You

Chapter Fifteen

DOCTOR BELÉN CARNERO WENT INTO THE CANTEEN OF the hospital and saw Montse sitting at the back by the window. She’d been looking for her. After negotiating a few obstacles, Belén approached the table and sat down beside her.

‘What took you long? I was about to leave, Belén.’

‘It was a long operation. And the worst thing is, that poor man nearly died in there because of you.’

Doctor Cambra raised her eyebrows.

‘How do you mean, because of me?’

‘Well, you know, Montse, that story of yours intrigued me so much I nearly overdid it with the anaesthetics.’

Montse was about to protest when she saw the cheeky smile on Belén’s face. ‘What? Where’s your sense of humour?’ Montse covered her face with her hands.

‘I’m not sure I ever had one.’

‘Of course you do. Remember how much we used to laugh together?’

‘You’re right. But it’s been so long I can barely remember.’

They looked each other in the eye for a moment, as if they were trying to read each other’s thoughts.

‘Listen,’ said Belén eventually. ‘Why don’t you come home and pick up your story where you left off.’

‘I haven’t got time. I have to go home, take a shower and…’

Belén knitted her brow. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked.

‘Well, yes, there’s no point hiding it. I’m going out to dinner with Pere.’

‘The most eligible bachelor. Well, none of my business really, but why don’t you finish telling me about Santiago San Romo.’

‘San Román.’

‘That’s it. You were telling me about your pregnancy. You were… nineteen?’

‘Eighteen. Eighteen years old. That’s all there is to it. But times were different then, and you know what my family has always been like.’

‘I do. That’s why I’m so intrigued. I can’t imagine you telling your mother you’ve become pregnant by a boy you barely know.’

‘Actually, I knew all I needed to know.’

‘You were saying you saw him with a blonde.’

Doctor Cambra searched through her handbag and took out a pack of Chesterfields. She lit up a cigarette. Belén looked at her without saying a word.

‘Why the look?’

‘I didn’t know you smoked. Is it a new thing?’

‘A stupid thing, I’d say. I haven’t smoked since I was eighteen.’

‘You’re full of surprises, girl. No wonder Pere is crazy about you.’

Monte blew the smoke in her face. Belén started coughing and laughing at the same time.

That October was among the saddest ones in Montse’s life. Her father was proud of her when she started university, but that feeling was in sharp contrast to her apathy. She remembered the recent summer like a princess’s dream. To be again living in a household with fixed hours and a controlling mother was almost unbearable. As were the prolonged periods away from Santiago. Meanwhile, her sister Teresa lived in a world of her own. Montse often looked up to her. The little sister had a life of her own. She seemed the older of the two. Teresa was better at putting up with their father’s demands, their mother’s reproaches, and the stifling control they both exerted on their daughters. Yet Montse found it impossible to get on with her sister. At times she saw her as a child; at others she thought Teresa too advanced for her years. In reality she was afraid to find out what her sister would think of her if she knew what she was secretly experiencing.

The longer she spent away from Santiago, the harder it was to get him off her mind. Now they only saw each other on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. Montse had to be back home by ten, and Santiago had nothing to do except be with her. When he told her that by the end of the year he had to be in Zaragoza to start his military service, she tried to look indifferent, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But at home she counted down the days with anxiety. Things couldn’t get any worse, surely. There, Montse was wrong.

The worst happened on an already unpleasant Autumn afternoon. As she had done so often, she was accompanying her mother on a visit to her aunt’s house. This was an unavoidable obligation. Nothing bored Montse so much as spending two hours sitting at a small round table while her mother and aunts discussed trivial matters and told colourless anecdotes about people who were already dead or whom she didn’t even know. But on that afternoon something broke the routine. Whilst walking past a café, Montse, with a coquettish gesture, looked at herself in the window to tidy her hair. She froze. Santiago was sitting at a table near the door, smoking casually, with a blonde beside him who was laughing as if he’d told her something truly hilarious. Montse only saw them for two or three seconds, but she was sure it was Santiago. Her heart jumped. She held her mother’s arm tightly and matched her step. She blushed, and her cheeks burned. She feared her mother might notice something was amiss. Although she didn’t want to look back, the image had lodged itself in her head. A number of ideas rushed through her mind. Without further thought, she excused herself and told her mother to carry on to her aunt’s without her. She’d forgotten something at home. Her mother went on her way grumbling to herself.

Montse was not in control of her actions. She made sure it really was Santiago and then positioned herself across the street, her eyes fixed on the door of the café. She was shaking. A couple of times she pictured herself as if from the outside and found what she was doing ridiculous. She started to cross the street, but held back at the last moment. For the first time in her life she didn’t mind not having an excuse to justify her behaviour in front of her mother. Time moved incredibly slowly.

Santiago San Román exited the café with the blonde. She couldn’t have been over nineteen or twenty, but her clothes made her look older. Even from afar, Montse could tell she wasn’t a natural blonde. Santiago spoke to her as if they were old friends. He made her laugh all the time, which further annoyed Montse. She followed them from a distance, across the road. Perhaps what Montse really wanted was for Santiago to see her there, but he only had eyes for the blonde. Montse had hers fixed on them to see if they held hands or if he passed his arm round her shoulder. But they did nothing suspicious. They simply strolled to the nearest bus stop and stood there for ten minutes, the girl laughing all that time. How come Santiago was suddenly so funny? More than once, Montse felt the impulse to walk away, or even approach them, but something stopped her. Eventually the bus appeared, and the girl let everyone else on first. At that moment Montse saw them hold hands. Or, rather, it was a tentative, nervous holding of hands, until the girl threw her arms round his neck and pulled him close to her. They kissed. Santiago wasn’t simply kissing her good-bye, and he certainly didn’t pull back. They untangled when the bus was about to pull out. Santiago remained fixed to the spot, looking at the girl, who was trying to find a seat on the bus. And there he stayed, looking into the distance, even after the vehicle had disappeared from view.

The following Saturday Montse did not turn up for their usual rendezvous. When Santiago rang her, pretending to be a friend from university, she didn’t answer the call. She took three days to come to the phone and, when she did, it was only to say:

‘Look, Santi, I don’t want to hear from you ever again. You understand? Ever. Pretend I’m dead.’ Then she hung up. Santiago didn’t get an explanation for another three days, when he approached Montse in the street. She was carrying some books, and had just enough time to catch the bus. But he stopped her. He was angry, but on seeing Montse’s face he went pale.

‘Will you tell me what’s wrong with you?’ His voice wobbled. Montse changed course and walked on. He followed, trying to get a word out of her, but she gave him no chance. Eventually, fed up with his insistence, she stopped.

‘Listen, I don’t know what your game is, but you’re not going to mess me around like this.’

‘First I’d have to know what you’re talking about. If you don’t explain yourself…’

‘Explain myself? You’re the one that owes me an explanation. For a start, who’s that peroxide blonde you were kissing at the bus stop the other day?’ Montse stared at him until he grew very serious and red in the face. Yet Santiago did not retreat.

‘If you’re jealous, there’s no reason for it. She’s no one important.’ She turned red with anger.

‘And me, am I someone important?’

‘Of course, the most important person in my life.’

‘Well, you’ve just lost that person. Go and cry on that fake blonde’s shoulder.’ Whereupon she strode off, with him trying to catch up.

‘Listen, sweetheart, that blonde, she’s no one. There’s no reason to be jealous. Didn’t you have any boyfriends before me?’

‘Yes, lots,’ she lied. ‘So what?’

‘Then you’ll understand: that’s all she is, an ex from way back.’

‘Well, and do you go around kissing your old girlfriends?’

‘I don’t. But we met by chance, we had a coffee…’

‘Did she pay for it?’ Santiago was struck dumb. Montse had hit where it hurt. He stayed behind. Montse eventually stopped walking, turned, and blurted out: ‘I’m pregnant. That’s right, pregnant. Don’t ask me if I’m certain or I’ll tell you to f… Now you know. I don’t ever want to hear from you, see you or have news of you again. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.’ Santiago’s face crumbled, and he remained glued to the pavement, without taking his eyes off Montse as she walked away. At that moment he realised that people had stopped to watch them as if they were a street act.

***

Doctor Cambra was no longer impressed with fancy restaurants and male gallantry. Sophistication bored her, although she felt at ease with it. She let Pere Fenoll choose the restaurant, the wine and the table. There was something touching about him, though other things grated with her. In fact, she was not sure how the balance stood between what she liked and what she didn’t. She knew that in her forties she was still beautiful, perfectly able to seduce a man, but felt terribly lazy when it came to using her charms. Besides, Pere was not very good at the game. He talked about work, his specialism, problems in the health service. And whenever Montse got him off the subject, he would grow pensive, as if taking a spoon to his mouth were a difficult procedure he couldn’t quite grasp. Still, he was an attractive man, with good taste and impeccable manners. Montse liked him as much as she found him exasperating. She began teasing him, being seductive in small doses, at moments when Pere seemed at his most receptive.

She guessed the evening would end in his bed; his image was tinged by the wine in her glass. The drink made her pleasantly dizzy. She was wearing her best dress. When Pere went silent he gained a lot of points. He wasn’t a good lover, but nor did she need that right now. She remembered him in his underpants and couldn’t help smiling.

‘Do you find this funny?’

In fact, Montse had not been listening. She was good at switching off without showing her lack of interest.

‘Not really. It’s the way you tell it, rather,’ she justified herself.

Pere blushed. Montse stared at him until he looked down at his glass.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve been talking all evening, and you’ve barely managed to say a word.’

‘No, what you were saying — it was very interesting. I don’t want to interrupt. Besides…’

Pere Fenoll raised his head and expectantly searched for the end of the phrase in Montse’s eyes.

‘Besides?’

‘Besides, I think I’m a bit tipsy, and I wouldn’t want to sound too silly.’

‘Well, you don’t look it. You look as fresh as if you’d just got out of bed.’

Montse smiled and was momentarily lost in thought. They’d finished their dinner, so sooner or later he would invite her back to his for a drink. She felt like talking. The idea of going home on her own, to memories and silent walls, did not appeal at all.

‘Have you ever thought of taking time off work?’ asked Montse. ‘I don’t know, three months, six months, a year, even.’

‘An extended leave of absence?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

‘No, I’ve never thought of it. Maybe later, when I’m…’

‘Older? Is that what you were going to say?’

‘When I feel more tired, that’s what I meant.’

Montse tucked her hair behind her ear. The wine had lifted her spirits in a way she thought she had forgotten.

‘Well I’d like to. Three months, half a year. Who knows, I might ask for it at work.’

‘And what would you do in all that time?’

‘A million things. Read, enjoy the city, travel. Traveling in the off-season is wonderful.’

‘On your own?’

‘If I did it, would you come with me?’ she replied at once, as if she’d been waiting for her cue.

Pere smiled, and blushed once again.

‘It depends. If you asked seriously… Are you about to ask me?’

‘No, not now. Don’t worry. It’s only an idea that keeps popping up in my head.’

Pere Fenoll took the opportunity offered by her frankness to ask his ready-made question.

‘Shall we go to mine for a drink?’

Montse smiled, making an effort to look spontaneous when she nodded. Still, she could not manage to feign surprise.

After settling the bill, they barely exchanged a word. They walked out a bit tense and got into Pere’s car. It was cold. Montse pulled up the collar of her jacket and curled up in her leather seat. She wanted the drive to be long, so she could warm up while listening to Wagner.

‘Are you tired?’

‘No. It’s just the wine. I’m fine.’

The traffic was heavy at that time. Montse was absent-mindedly looking at the people on the pavement as Pere talked once again about work. Suddenly she thought she saw Fatma, who was walking alone, with her hair covered by a red melfa.

‘Stop for a second, please, Pere. I’ve just spotted a friend.’

‘You want me to stop here?’

‘It’ll only take a moment; no need to park.’

Pere stopped at the side of the road. He was annoyed, and saw Montse’s sudden reaction as a pointless whim. Montse got out of the car and caught up with Fatma. The Saharawi was glad to see her, even though they had last met only three days before. They greeted each other with a kiss and held hands, asking after this and that, as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time.

‘Is the baby okay?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. He’s a good boy.’

The two women were not in a hurry. But Pere Fenoll beeped the horn impatiently. This startled Fatma, who only then realised that someone was waiting for Montse. Not wanting to take any more of Montse’s time, she said goodbye. They promised to meet soon.

Pere had a serious expression on his face when Montse got back into the car. She was annoyed, and had to make an effort not to have a go at him for his impatience.

‘Well, Montse,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you had such exotic friends.’

‘Exotic? Do you not approve of my “exotic” friends?’

‘No, no, on the contrary. I think one should get to know all kinds of people.’

Montse didn’t like his tone. Before the car started moving, she opened the door again, got out and said:

‘You know what, Pere, I never thought I would say this to someone, but then I never thought I’d go to bed with someone like you either. Fuck off!’

Pere Fenoll was speechless. He knew he had blown it, but it was now too late to make amends. He stayed in the car with Wagner playing in the background, while Montse quickly walked away, cursing him.