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Nana looked around. “It’s busier. More people and a lot of cars. Too loud. The shops and restaurants have changed. It was a long time ago, Gabriela, and for most of my teenage years, I didn’t come into the city. It was unsafe.”
“Did they sing and dance in the streets like this? I love it.”
“Yes.” She looked towards the group of people chapping and cheering and turned up her nose. “That’s for tourists. We should visit Sacromonte for real flamenco by the Roma Gypsy descendants.”
“I’d like that.”
Looking out over the square, Nana stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes just as Gabi was about to order another drink. Even though Nana had benefitted from that late afternoon nap, she must be shattered after their early start and long journey.
“Are you ready to go back?” Gabi almost said home, but they were a long way from the farmhouse.
Nana blinked. “Yes. I think I will. You stay.”
“No, I’ll go with you.”
“No. I know the way. We just walked from there. And that neon hotel sign is bigger than the moon. It can’t be missed.”
Nana was exaggerating a little, but she made a good point. The evening had barely begun. She gave Gabi her look again that told her not to argue.
“Okay, fine. But promise me you’ll be careful and go straight back.” Gabi sounded like the parent she’d sworn she would never become, for the second time since they’d set off. She had agreed reluctantly, and it came with a twinge of discomfort. But Nana didn’t seem at all concerned, and she had to respect that, or she would end up trailing her everywhere and that wouldn’t work for either of them.
Nana shook her head. “I know this city like the back of my hand.”
“Hm.” Gabi doubted that Nana was as familiar with Granada as she once might have been, but there was little point in arguing. Gabi paid the bill and watched Nana as she started to retrace her steps. She looked remarkably spritely, wielding her cane, on the back of two glasses of wine. As she mingled with the others and Gabi lost sight of Nana’s white hair, her pulse raced.She’ll be fine.
Gabi gravitated back towards the music in time to see a dancer lift her skirt and reveal her knees and block-heeled shoes. The crowd cheered as she started to tap. She stood on a piece of wood with her back to a man. He perched on the stone wall of the water feature behind them, a guitar in his lap. Another man sat next to him, his palms resting on the top of what looked like a metal block he had clamped between his legs. He started tapping his fingers in a fast beat on the front of the instrument. The woman clicked her heels. Two other men who appeared to be a part of the group started clapping and moved to stand on either side of the woman.
The speed that she moved her feet and the sound that she made were mesmerising. Gabi couldn’t stop staring, and she became immersed trying to work out the pattern in the beat. Some of the other spectators around her were clapping, and she had no idea where to begin. The man with the guitar started to strum. There was nothing lazy or relaxing about this music. He had a dark intensity to his appearance. It was as if he was the music, all passion, fast and fiery.
Gabi had no idea how long she’d been standing with her hands clasped together in front of her, but when the woman leading the dance caught her eye and smiled, she became acutely aware of how odd the prayer position felt given she held no faith. It was astounding that anyone could move a body part that quickly, let alone several parts in coordinated, precise movements. She thought about Michael Flatley’s tap dancing during the interval at Eurovision the previous year. That had been brilliant, but this flamenco was another level of genius. It was raw, fresh, and every beat seemed to ignite a fire inside her. She wanted to dance with them, to feel as uninhibited and as connected to the spirit of the music as they appeared. Nana said this was for tourists, and if Nana was right, Gabi couldn’t wait to see the real thing. It was insane, in a brilliant way.
All these people were beautiful, like the stars in a Hollywood movie. They were olive-skinned, athletic, and alluring. Now that she’d quit her obsessive need to watch the woman’s feet and had registered that she’d smiled at her, Gabi felt as hot as hell and in desperate need of a chilled beer. She tried to wet her lips, tried to breathe deeper. She failed at both. Her heart raced and her hands tingled, and she felt very self-conscious.
The woman glanced in her direction again as she danced a circle with her arm raised, clicking her castanets, and tapping her heels. Gabi was sure they’d locked eyes. It wasn’t the kind of stare she used in England for the explicit purpose of getting laid. This was nothing like that. Not even remotely close. It was as if every cell inside her had stopped functioning and held her suspended inside the passion of the music, and then those cells had simultaneously come to life in a wave of electric vibration that had no end. And each glance the woman stole in Gabi’s direction intensified the feeling. It was hard to breathe and impossible to not stare.
As the music came to an end, the crowd cheered, and people threw coins into the upturned hats that defined the boundary of the group’s makeshift stage. Gabi stepped forward and dropped a note. She had no idea how much she’d given, but she knew what she’d experienced was worth more than she’d brought out with her. She was ushered from the hat by a man wanting to show his appreciation. Coins chinked, and she wandered away in a trance.
She was still thinking about the flamenco group when she got to the hotel and wanted to tell Nana about them. She poked her head through the door that separated their rooms to see if she was awake. Nana’s bed was empty, and the sheets hadn’t been touched.
She should have made sure she got back safely. She should have taken better care of her.Oh shit.Where the fuck is Nana?
