Offering to the Storm

‘Oh, Amaia, could you come over?’

‘Of course, what’s the matter, Ros?’

‘You’d better come and see for yourself.’

Amaia parked outside Mantecadas Salazar and made her way through the bakery, exchanging greetings with the employees she passed en route to the office at the back. Ros was standing in the doorway with her back to Amaia, blocking her view of the interior.

‘Ros, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

Ros spun round, ashen-faced. Amaia instantly understood why.

‘Well, well. The cavalry has arrived!’ Flora said by way of greeting.

Concealing her surprise, Amaia approached her eldest sister after giving Ros a peck on the cheek.

‘We weren’t expecting you, Flora. How are you?’

‘As well as anyone could be, under the circumstances …’

Amaia looked at her, puzzled.

‘Our mother met a horrible death a month ago – or am I the only one who cares?’ she said sarcastically.

Amaia flashed a grin at Ros. ‘Of course, Flora, the whole world knows how much more sensitive you are than everyone else,’ she retorted.

Flora responded to the jibe with a grimace, then planted herself behind the desk. Motionless in the doorway, arms hanging by her sides, Ros was the image of helplessness, save for her pursed lips and a glint of repressed rage in her eye.

‘Are you planning to stay long, Flora?’ asked Amaia. ‘I don’t suppose you have much free time with all your TV work.’

Flora adjusted the height of the chair then sat down behind the desk.

‘Yes, I’m extremely busy, but I thought I’d take a few days off,’ she said, rearranging a pile of papers on the desk.

Ros pressed her lips together even more tightly. Observing this, Flora added nonchalantly, ‘Actually, given the way things are, I may decide to stay on.’ She pushed the wastepaper basket towards the desk with her foot then swept up the brightly coloured post-it notes and ballpoint pens with tasselled toppers that clearly belonged to Ros and tossed them in.

‘Great,’ said Amaia. ‘I’m sure Auntie will be delighted to see you when you stop by later. But, Flora, in future, if you want to drop in at the bakery, let Ros know beforehand. She’s a busy woman now that she’s signed a contract with that big French supermarket chain – that deal you were forever chasing, remember? – so she hasn’t time to tidy up the mess you leave behind.’ She leaned over the wastepaper basket to retrieve Ros’s belongings and replace them on the desk.

‘The Martiniés,’ Flora hissed under her breath.

‘Oui,’ replied Amaia with a mischievous grin. She could tell from Flora’s expression that her barb had hit the mark.

‘I set the whole thing up,’ Flora huffed. ‘I did the research, I spent over a year making the necessary contacts.’

‘Yes, but Ros clinched the deal on their first meeting,’ replied Amaia gaily.

Flora stared at Ros, who avoided her gaze, walking over to the coffee machine and setting out some cups.

‘Do you want coffee?’ she said, almost in a whisper.

‘Yes, please,’ replied Amaia, eyes fixed on Flora.

‘No, thanks,’ said Flora. ‘I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your precious time,’ she added, rising from her seat. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I came here to arrange Ama’s funeral service.’

The remark took Amaia by surprise. The notion of a service had never entered her head.

‘But—’ she started to protest.

‘Yes, I know, it isn’t official, and we’d all like to believe that somehow she managed to scramble out of the river and is still alive, but the fact is, she probably didn’t,’ she said, staring straight at Amaia. ‘I’ve spoken to the magistrate in Pamplona in charge of the case, and he agrees that it’s a good idea to hold a service.’

‘You called Judge Markina?’

‘Actually, he called me. A charming man, incidentally.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘But, what?’ demanded Flora.

‘Well …’ Amaia swallowed hard, her voice cracking as she spoke: ‘Until we find her body, we can’t be sure she’s dead.’

‘For God’s sake, Amaia! You saw the clothes they dragged out of the river. How could an old, crippled woman have survived that?’

‘I don’t know … In any case, she isn’t officially dead.’

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ Ros broke in.

Amaia looked at her, astonished.

‘Yes, Amaia, I think we should turn the page. Holding a funeral for Ama’s soul will close this chapter once and for all.’

‘I can’t. I don’t believe she’s dead.’

‘For God’s sake, Amaia!’ cried Flora. ‘Where is she, then? Where the hell is she? She couldn’t possibly have escaped into the forest in the dead of night!’ She lowered her voice: ‘They dragged the river, Amaia. Our mother drowned, she’s dead.’

Amaia squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Flora, if you need any help with the arrangements, call me,’ said Ros calmly.

Without replying, Flora picked up her bag and strode to the door.

‘I’ll tell you the time and venue as soon as I’ve arranged everything.’

With Flora gone, the two sisters settled down to drink their coffee. The atmosphere in the office was like the aftermath of an electrical storm, both women waiting for the charged energy in the air to subside and for calm to be restored before speaking.

‘She’s dead, Amaia,’ Ros said at last.

‘I don’t know …’

‘You don’t know, or you haven’t accepted it yet?’