Free Autumn in Catalonia by Jane MacKenzie Page B

know you existed! What made you come down to Spain after all this time?’
    ‘Old friends of my father in our village told me how he came to visit his Spanish family in Sant Galdric in 1936. They knew he had a brother and a sister – you, Aunt Maria – and your children, living with his mother in Sant Galdric. I only learnt about the existence of his Spanish family a few years ago, and as the years have gone by I found myself wanting to know more about where my father came from. My mother,’ this with a shake of the head, ‘was veryunhappy about me making the journey. But I made it to here unscathed. I told her that I’d just be another tourist to Spain, but she thinks nothing has changed here, and she’s heard too many bad stories. She thinks the police are just waiting on every corner to arrest people here in Spain!’
    ‘I remember your mother well from that visit,’ Maria said, with a smile. ‘She was such a beautiful woman. It’s good that she decided to stay in the south after Luis died. She was from Paris, originally, wasn’t she?’
    Martin froze, and an odd haunted expression came to his face. Carla wondered what on earth for. She looked across at Grandma, whose head was turned full towards Martin. Her simple question hung in the air between them, and acquired an unintended significance as the minutes went by.
    And then the young man breathed in a large gulp of air, and seemed to launch himself into his next words.
    ‘You met Luis’s wife Elise in 1936,’ he said. ‘Well, Elise and Luis had two children, but during the war she had to flee France with them, leaving Luis behind. She never came back to France after that, and my sister and brother grew up in England. Elise died there.’
    He had Carla’s full attention now, as well as Maria’s. ‘And you?’ Carla asked.
    ‘I was born later, in 1944,’ he answered, swallowing hard. ‘Luis had an affair with my mother during the war, after his wife had left. He never even knew my mother was pregnant, and he died before I was born.’ He looked at them both with a plea in his eyes.
    ‘I only found out when I was thirteen that he was myreal father, and I’ve been trying to make sense of it since then. I came here …’ He stopped, the words seeming to run dry in his throat.
    Maria closed her hand over his on the table. ‘You came here to find your family. And we saw Luis in you. You are a Garriga through and through, and you are the nephew who came to make Luis live again for us.’
    Carla was still staring, taking in his story. So he was Luis’s son indeed, but a bastard son that Luis never even knew existed. But he was a Garriga, just as Grandma said. Luis’s blood flowed through his veins, just as Luc’s blood would define the baby now kicking inside her womb, however illegitimate.
    She looked over to where Maria’s hand still enfolded Martin’s, and couldn’t help laughing.
    ‘If you have my grandmother on your side, Martin, then it seems like you are definitely one of us. How old are you? If you were born in 1944 you must be nineteen, no more! Well you look a whole lot older, but it seems strange that my Great Uncle Luis should have a son who’s younger than me.’ She eased herself out from the table. ‘Do you drink coffee, cousin Martin? Well, if I sit here any longer my back will seize up, so you stay here, and talk to your new found aunt, and coffee you shall both have. I think you two have a lot more to say to one another!’

C HAPTER S EVEN
    They lingered over coffee. The coffee Grandma and Victor could afford was always as bitter as hell, despite the sugar they added in spoonfuls, but it was the one thing which Carla seemed to be able to swallow easily, and it burnt a path through her gullet and the sugar and caffeine kicked her tired body awake. God knows what it was doing to her nerves, but they were shot already, and Carla loved its assault on her senses.
    As the coffee warmed her she nodded at her new-found cousin. ‘I can