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‘Hello.’ He knew enough to fill the silence, to take control of the conversation.
The doctor flicked her gaze up, then returned to her work of setting the cast.
‘It looks as though you’ve done an excellent job on that.’ He nodded towards her arm.
‘Broken in two places.’ Annie nodded. His heart lurched. She was so utterly familiar to him—it was like discovering a piece of him he hadn’t even realised was missing. ‘Have you ever broken a bone?’
‘My nose.’ He pointed to the bump halfway down. ‘And my wrist.’
She pulled her lips to the side in a gesture that was pure Alicia. It was like being stabbed.
‘Are you family?’ the doctor asked, her tone casual, he imagined, to a child, but Graciano heard the undertone. She was sounding him out.
‘He’s with me.’ Alicia’s voice was weak and watery, but it was enough. Rather than hold back and stay silent, she was speaking up now, not like ten years earlier. But it was hardly a ringing endorsement of her courage: she was speaking to keep him secret from Annie. That was all.
‘And you are?’
‘That’s my mum,’ Annie said, conspiratorially. ‘Don’t worry, I’m okay,’ Annie reassured her, a lopsided smile on her lips.
He felt excluded. He felt lost. He felt fascinated by this daughter of his, by this beautiful, interesting girl he knew nothing about.
‘Oh, darling.’ He watched as Alicia quickly stepped to the edge of the bed and pressed a kiss to Annie’s forehead. ‘What happened?’
‘It was just a collision, Mum.’
Alicia frowned, obviously not convinced.
‘How do you know my mum?’ She returned her attention back to Graciano, apparently far more interested in him than debriefing a football accident.
Alicia spoke first again, desperate to conceal the truth. It was the right thing to do, but in that moment, all he could see was her cowardice and shame, the lies she’d been telling for ten years that tripped off her tongue without premeditation now.
‘I was doing some work for Graciano,’ she said.
‘In Spain?’
He interrupted before Alicia could answer. ‘Yes, that’s right. Have you ever been to Spain, Annie?’
‘No, but I’m learning the language.’
Something shifted in his chest. ‘Are you?’
‘Mummy’s teaching me.’
‘She’s very good.’
His eyes slashed through Alicia. Was that any wonder? The girl was half Spanish. The language, like many other hallmarks of his culture, ran through her veins. He noted the way Alicia wouldn’t meet his eyes a second before he noticed the red rash across the base of her jaw, caused by his stubble. It was a confusing reminder, a white flag of surrender in the midst of his anger.
He ignored it.
‘Do you like football, Annie?’
‘It’s one of my favourite things.’
‘Are you any good?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t know. I like it a lot.’
‘Annie’s very—’
