María laughed, amused by their playful back and forth, and she rubbed an arm over Lisa’s shoulder, looking her over once more. “Such a pretty girl,” she said, almost as if she were talking to a child. “How did my naughty daughter get so lucky?”
“Naughty?” Stella shouted from the staircase. “I’ve never been naughty.”
“She’s lying.” Stella’s mother beckoned for Lisa to follow Stella. “I will tell you all about the trouble we’ve had with Stella. Let me just heat up some food, I’ll be five minutes.”
53
Lisa was enjoying herself, sipping sangria on the roof terrace that looked over the dozens of other roof terraces in the street. In contrast to María and Antonio’s basic flat that clearly hadn’t been given much love and attention over the years, their roof terrace was like an urban jungle, adorned with flowers and potted pineapple palms, quaint cast iron furniture and quirky little seating areas amongst all the green. The colourful Spanish tiles were polished, and the terrace-facing wall was painted bright yellow. Other roof terraces were equally green, she noticed. There had been some regular back and forth yelling between Stella, Stella’s mother and the neighbours on the other side of the street, who wanted to know how ‘little Stella’ was doing and who her friend was. Her mother hadn’t told them they were a couple, but she’d boasted about Lisa as if they’d known each other for years.
María was a short, voluptuous, happy and chatty woman with a grey perm, and her husband was taller and slimmer. Although Stella didn’t look like either of her parents, there was no question as to where she got her optimism, humour and energy from, and Lisa really liked María, who had been curiously interrogating her for the past hour.Where are you from? What do you do? Do you have siblings? Have you been to Seville before? How do you like Spain? Will you move here permanently?The latter had been a painful question, not just because it was unlikely she’d be able to stay or even knew if she wanted to stay in Spain as that would be a drastic life change, but also because she hadn’t yet discussed the New York job opportunity with Stella. So, they’d both skimmed around the subject, and Stella had told her mother to stop complicating matters as the UK was Lisa’s home and it was only a short flight away; they would be fine either way.
The wooden table was filled with small dishes from the deli, all delicious and new to Lisa. Fried cazón; a tender white fish, salmorejo; a cold soup with crumbled egg, spinach and chickpea stew, snails in garlic and Iberico ham on fresh, grilled bread smothered in olive oil were spread over the red and white chequered tablecloth.
“It’s so good. Did you make all this yourself?” she asked.
María nodded proudly. “Yes. Antonio and I make everything ourselves in the small deli kitchen. I usually cook and he mans the counter but when I don’t feel like it, we swap; he’s very capable. We generally sell the same things, apart from our daily specials. Do you cook?”
“A little, but nothing like this.” Lisa looked up when Antonio came up to join them, holding the two puppies in his arms. María sneered something at him in Spanish, but he laughed it off and put them on the floor.
“They were howling, so I couldn’t leave them there on their own,” he said, laughing when Butters immediately ran to Lisa. “I guess he wanted his madre.”
“Oh, he wants me to pick him up.” Lisa held out her arms and lifted him when he clumsily got on his back legs, pawing her. She stroked him as he curled up on her lap and almost immediately fell asleep. “Could you be any more adorable?”
“That’s going to be a crazy household, with five cats and two dogs.” Antonio shot his daughter an amused look as she picked up Meatball.
“I was kind of hoping you might want them,” Stella said carefully. “Or maybe Aunt Magda or one of the neighbours. I can’t have dogs; I work all day.”
“What about us? Don’t we work?”
“Yes, but couldn’t they stay in the deli?” Stella asked. “Blanco used to hang out there all the time.”
Antonio shook his head. “Times have changed. People don’t like dogs in delis or restaurants these days, we might lose customers. And as far as I’m aware, Aunt Magda is allergic and most of our neighbours are too old. You could take them to the local shelter, though. They’re cute so I’m sure they’ll find them a good home in no time.”
“Hmm... Maybe we should take them back and ask around in Benidorm first. There are plenty of British pensioners who live there full-time who I’m sure would love a dog. Or Spanish locals,” Stella said. “I want to make sure they end up in a good home.”
“Yes, let’s take them back with us,” Lisa agreed, not liking the idea of letting them go so soon, especially not now that Butters had attached himself to her. She was in love with them both already and although the journey had been a hassle, and she’d had to write off her jeans and her jumper as they were drenched in urine, her heart swelled for the two puppies who had come into her life so unexpectedly.
Antonio helped himself to sangria and a piece of fish and turned to Lisa. “So, have you been to Seville before? It’s a very special city.”
“No, never. It looked amazing as we drove through the city centre, and this neighbourhood is lovely. It seems so social, with everyone sitting on their roofs, talking to each other.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing without the nosey neighbours,” Antonio joked. “But all in all, it’s a very nice neighbourhood. We’ve lived here all our lives and the city centre has moved in this direction, so it’s much more popular now.”
Lisa smiled. “I love the view too. The town with all its churches in the distance, the pastel colours of the buildings and the smell…” She inhaled deeply but wasn’t able to identify the pungent floral scent. “What is it?”
“Seville smells like the Garden of Eden,” Antonio said. “It’s jasmine actually, and in spring, the whole city smells of orange blossom. In those months it’s hard to believe you’re in a big city.”
“Those are orange trees over there,” Stella said, pointing in the direction of a tree-lined street in the distance. “There’s nowhere else in the world where you can wander through random streets in the middle of the city and pick oranges from the trees. The orange season stretches between December and February, and in those months, the city smells of citrus.” Stella refilled their glasses, her proud smile lighting up her face. “Seville is known for its aromas, but it’s also known for flamenco and later tonight, I want to take you out.”
“How exciting!” Lisa smiled. “So, I’ll finally get to see what you’re so passionate about up-close. Will you be joining us?” she asked, turning to Stella’s parents.
“No, not tonight. You two go out and enjoy yourselves, Stella is keen to show you the city. But we’ve arranged a family dinner for tomorrow when Stella’s sister is here,” María said. “Besides, flamenco is very romantic. It’s not something parents should get involved with.”
54
“Seville is the soul of Spain,” Stella said as they wandered through the Barrio de Santa Cruz district. She felt at home in the ancient streets and effortlessly navigated through the maze of dark alleyways. Lisa’s excitement was endearing, her reaction palpable in the way she squeezed her hand each time they turned a corner and faced another chapel, mosque, cathedral, synagogue or pretty plaza. “That’s how I think of this city anyway.” The night was steamy hot, but that was fitting here; summers is Seville were sultry and life passed at a slow pace.
“I couldn’t agree more. There’s so much culture and beauty, and it also feels mysterious, don’t you think?”
