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“Of course, cariño. Let me speak to the agent first and see what I can arrange.” Nana closed the paper and stood. “I’m going to call them now and then head to the garden and read for a bit. I found a classic in the hotel library that looks interesting. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez.”

The title sounded depressing as hell. Gabi couldn’t imagine anything worse than solitude, let alone a hundred years of it, probably because it pretty much summed up how she’d been living in her flat, and why she preferred the company of women at night to sleeping alone. All those years in isolation, though. No, she couldn’t see how that would bring happiness. She craved company but not the transient kind that had become her norm. “I’m going into town to see if I can see the group I saw last week.”

“Excelente. You should let your hair down a little.”

Gabi ran her hand over the back of her head and laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, and I think it’s time to go to the cemetery tomorrow.”

That would be one of the attractions ticked off Nana’s bucket list. Gabi hoped Nana had a very long list. “Okay.”

“I’ll arrange a packed lunch from the hotel,” Nana said.

Gabi curled her lip.

“I’d like to spend the day there.”

“At the cemetery?”

“It’s a serene place.”

Yeah, dead quiet. Gabi was interested in her grandparents, but the idea of spending the day in the company of tatty tombstones and ugly stone sculptures made her shiver. “I’ll grab lunch at the market.”

“Will you look out for something for Maggie’s birthday for me?”

“Sure.”

“I had in mind an ashtray or a small vase.”

“Will do.”

“She likes reds and oranges and hates black. Reminds her too much of funerals and the war.”

“She’d hate it here then.” Most of the women wore black most of the time from what Gabi had seen. Black skirts, black blouses, black veils. Probably black knickers, not that anyone was likely to find out. Black was expected to be worn for a year after the death of a husband, but many widows never changed back.

“Autumn colours would be perfecto,” Nana said.

An hour later, Gabi walked into the city, pondering the apartment that Nana had arranged to view. It had two spacious bedrooms each with ensuite bathrooms containing a bath and shower, a living room that was bigger than the whole of Gabi’s old flat, and views overlooking the square and a local small supermarket. It also had a modern kitchen with a breakfast bar, and a terrace with a view of the Genil River that would pick up the evening sun. Nana was right, it would be perfectly manageable. Maybe Gabi should be a bit more open to staying, and even look for a job. She could explore the bars for opportunities. It was the holiday season after all, and her Spanish could just about stand up to tourist conversations, taking drinks orders, and listing the best places to visit.

The music in this street wasn’t as good as the first night. A waiter coaxed her into his bar with a smile and a free first drink. She ordered a beer and glanced around as she waited for it to arrive. Women’s perfume, men’s aftershave, and a hefty dose of cigarette smoke formed a heady mix that reminded her of working her old job. The voices and laughter drowned out the street music. Though she would be better off in the balmy air, she relaxed easily with the familiarity inside the bar. She smiled at a woman smiling at her. Her white blouse hung off one shoulder and was tucked into a skirt that barely covered her ass. She had long wavy brown hair and a mock-coy smile that Gabi read as an invitation to introduce herself. Gabi thanked the waiter for her drink and raised her glass as the woman approached her.

“Have you been in here before?” the woman said in a distinctively Cockney accent.

Gabi shook her head. “You’re from London?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“What can I say? I’m an EastEnders addict.”

The woman laughed. “Where are you from?”

Gabi sipped her drink. “Devon. A village close to Lydford.”

The woman nodded. “You look Spanish, apart from the hair.”

“It’s in my genes.” Gabi tugged at her baggy jeans.

The woman laughed. “Holiday?”