Free Alberto's Lost Birthday by Diana Rosie Page B

laughing.
    ‘Who’s the champion now, eh?’ I ask, tickling the squirming boy. When he’s giggling so much he can barely breathe, I stop, worried I might make him sick. As we lie on the
grass panting, he rolls towards me and embraces me. I give him a bear hug.
    I squeeze Alberto’s hand and he turns his face up to me. I lift my finger to my lips and he nods seriously. Although we believe the village to be on the Republican side,
our information is often unreliable. And when there’s support for both sides, as there is in this region, we cannot rely on anyone for our security.
    I bend down so that the boy and I are on the same level; then, as quietly as we can, we start to run. We pass shops and houses, dark and shut up for the night.
    A short distance from the main square, I steer Alberto into a doorway, and we stop to catch our breath.
    Suddenly, a dog starts barking ferociously on the other side of the door. Instinctively, I put my hand over Alberto’s open mouth, but he stops himself from crying out in fear. I drop again
and we make a dash to the shadows in the square.
    When we reach the outer walls of the church, we edge around it, making our way down a walkway until we come across a gate. In the dim light, I can see a small graveyard inside. Very slowly I
turn the handle, and with a small squeak it opens. I usher Alberto in and he stands against the wall, while I quietly shut the gate behind us.
    Across the dusty courtyard is a side door into the church itself, with a small bench beside it. We walk across to the bench and I indicate Alberto should sit down. My plan is to leave the child
there for the remaining hours of night. The church will open early and they’ll discover him. With the Church supporting the Fascists, I can’t risk being found by a priest.
    Kneeling beside him, I take out one of June’s letters. Carefully, I rip the triangle off the back of the envelope. Tucking the envelope back in my pocket, I fish out a pencil and, leaning
on my knee, carefully write A LBERTO R OMERO on the white paper.
    I tuck the paper into Alberto’s jacket pocket and stand up. I’ve been dreading this moment, and as the small boy looks up at me with his large, round eyes, I have no idea what to
say. After a moment, I punch him softly on the shoulder.
    ‘Good luck, mate,’ I whisper in English.
    Then, with a crack of metal against wood, the door beside us opens, causing light to flood out of the church. Like startled rabbits, Alberto and I stare at a priest in long black robes, framed
by the open door. He is tall and spectacled, and looks me straight in the eye. After what seems an age, he turns to Alberto, then back to me.
    It seems as if he understands what is happening. He steps out of the church towards Alberto and places a protective hand on his head, then nods firmly at me. This priest is not what I was
expecting – I sense he is a man of integrity.
    Alberto is watching me nervously. I flash him a wink. He gives me a tiny smile in return. By the time I pull the gate to behind me, the wooden door is shut, with the priest and Alberto inside.
The romantic in me notices a small star directly above the church glow a little more brightly.
    The pragmatist in me hopes my instincts are right about the priest.

Chapter Seven

    ‘Papá? Is that you?’ Alberto’s daughter’s voice crackled at him down the phone line.
    ‘Yes, it’s me. I didn’t know if you’d be at the hospital.’
    ‘No, they sent me home. I’m here and Cristina is too. She arrived this morning. Her mother-in-law is looking after her husband and the children.’
    ‘Good. I’m glad your sister is with you. How is Juan Carlos?’
    ‘He’s doing much better. In fact, he was speaking a little today. The doctors are very pleased with his progress.’
    ‘That’s good news, Rosa,’ the old man sighed, relieved. He nodded at the boy, who was looking up expectantly.
    ‘Papá?’
    ‘He’s here,’ he said, passing the phone to his