Free Lilia's Secret by Erina Reddan Page A

he’d have to ask from house to house to secure them something. Hard to do if everyone was at church.
    A mushroom cloud of metallic balloons appeared above the trees. Nearby a small girl jumped up and down, her long black braids bouncing on her back. She was shouting the same thing over and over. A man grabbed her from behind and swung her in a high arc. When he set her down he gave her some coins and she raced off to the balloon seller, where she considered the balloons with her finger in her mouth. Bill wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter which balloon she chose, it would come to nothing anyway. He looked away.
    His father would have sat in this very square, maybe right here on this bench. Bill wanted to get up and run, and end up somewhere safe, such as his office back in Boston. He clutched his daypack to his chest fiercely and hunkered over.
    â€˜Selfish rich brat,’ he muttered under his breath, cursing Gerardo, who hadn’t thought to leave him in an air-conditioned restaurant. Gerardo finally returned with five boys in tow.
    â€˜Tourists aren’t welcome here,’ he told Bill.
    â€˜I’m no tourist,’ Bill replied. ‘My father lived and died here, remember? I have a right to be here.’ Then he smiled.
    â€˜I don’t think that would be a commonly held view, Mr Bixton,’ Gerardo said, without returning the smile.
    Bill grunted. In the old days back in Boston – already they were the old days – he would have put Gerardo in his place. But money was a funny thing without power. He was paying Gerardo but Gerardo didn’t need the job.
    â€˜I’ve found you a room not far from here. It is perfectly comfortable for someone of your needs,’ Gerardo went on.
    Bill grunted again.
    â€˜I’ll be staying nearby,’ Gerardo added.
    The boys heaved the suitcases on to their shoulders and they marched off in a snaking line, making too much of a spectacle, to Bill’s thinking. He hoped they’d stop in front of one of the bigger whitewashed houses with a balcony. But their destination was small and opened directly on to the street. The owner stood on the middle of the three front steps. As the procession advanced she stepped down on to the dusty road. A long braid hung down her back and wisps of grey framed her face. She had a young face though – she couldn’t have been older than late thirties.
    She nodded at Bill, smiling, and said a string of things which Gerardo didn’t translate. Bill smiled and nodded back. He had to strain to keep smiling when he saw the small square box that was to be his room. There was a double bed, which seemed tiny compared to what he was used to; a dark wardrobe that dominated the room, and a small round table, a chair, and a slim chest of drawers with a mirror were crammed against the wall.
    Maybe, Bill thought, he should have paid a detective after all, or at least admitted he had money. He beamed at the woman, Teresa, and asked Gerardo to tell her what a wonderful room it was. Her face split into a smile and she patted Bill’s shoulder.
    â€˜You are very welcome,’ Gerardo translated. ‘We don’t get strangers here in Aguasecas.’
    Teresa smiled one last time and then shooed the others out, leaving him alone. He closed the door and flung back the window shutters. In an instant, sunlight was burning the inside of the room. Bill leant out of the window and looked along the street. Everything was still, all the other shutters were closed. The flowers in the window boxes wilted, bearing the weight of the heat.
    He closed the shutters and switched on the light. He heaved one suitcase on to the bed, which sagged a little under the weight, laid underwear and socks in one drawer and squashed T-shirts and shorts into another. There was no room for his sweaters and long pants so he stacked them in the wardrobe. He put his suitcases inside each other and hid them under the bed. He liked