The Invisible Guardian - Dolores Redondo

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asked Iriarte.

      ‘Well, it’s unexpected; the families knew each other, if only by sight, and keeping in mind that and the circumstances of the girls’ deaths …’

      ‘Perhaps it was to avoid fuelling any gossip; let’s not forget that they’ve believed Miguel Ángel to be their daughter’s killer all this time … It must be hard to accept that we don’t have the killer and, furthermore, that he’s going to be released from prison.’

      ‘You could be right,’ admitted Iriarte.

      ‘Jonan, what can you tell me about Ainhoa’s family?’ asked Amaia.

      ‘After the funeral almost all the mourners went back to their home. The parents were very upset but quite calm, supporting one another. They held hands the whole time and didn’t let go even for an instant. It was hardest for the boy; it was painful to see him, sitting on a chair all by himself, looking at the floor, receiving everyone’s condolences without his parents even deigning to look at him. It was a shame.’

      ‘They blame the boy. Do we know whether he was really at home? Could he have gone to pick his sister up?’ inquired Zabalza.

      ‘He was at home. Two of his friends were with him the whole time, it looks like they had to do a project for school and then they got absorbed in playing on the PlayStation; one other boy joined them later, a neighbour who dropped in for a game. I’ve also spoken to Ainhoa’s friends. They didn’t stop crying or talking on their mobiles the entire time, a really bizarre combination. They all said the same thing. They spent the evening together in the square and wandering around town, and then they went to a bar on the ground floor of the building where one of them lives. They had a bit to drink, although not very much according to them. Some of them smoke, although Ainhoa didn’t; even so, it would explain why her skin and clothes smelled of tobacco. There was a little gang of boys drinking beer with them, but they all stayed where they were after Ainhoa left; it looks like she was the one with the earliest curfew.’

      ‘And much good it did her,’ commented Montes.

      ‘Some parents think that making their daughters come home earlier keeps them safe from danger, when the most important thing is that they don’t come home alone. By making them come home before the rest of the group, they’re the ones putting them at risk.’

      ‘It’s difficult being a parent,’ murmured Iriarte.

       8

      As she walked home, Amaia was surprised to realise how quickly the light had faded that February afternoon and she had a strange sense of being cheated. The early nights during winter made her feel uneasy. As if the darkness carried an ominous charge, the cold made her shiver beneath the leather of her jacket and yearn for the warmth of the quilted anorak James had tried so hard to persuade her to wear, and which she had rejected because it made her look like the Michelin man.

      The warm atmosphere of Aunt Engrasi’s house dispersed the unwelcome remnants of winter that clung to her. The scent of the wood in the hearth, the huge rugs that covered the wooden floor and the incessant chatter from the television, which was permanently on even though nobody ever watched it, welcomed her back again. There were much more interesting things to do there than listen to the TV and yet it was always on in the background like a poltergeist, ignored as an absurdity and tolerated out of habit. She had once asked her aunt why and she had replied, ‘It’s an echo of the world. Do you know what an echo is? It’s a voice you can still hear once the real one has died away.’

      Back in the present, James took her by the hand and led her over to the fire.

      ‘You’re frozen, my love.’

      She smiled, nuzzling her nose into his jersey and inhaling the scent of his skin. Ros and Aunt Engrasi came out of the kitchen carrying glasses, dishes, bread and a tureen of soup.

      ‘I hope you’re hungry, Amaia, because your aunt’s made enough food to feed an army.’

      Aunt Engrasi’s footsteps may have been slightly slower than they were at Christmas, but her mind was as clear as ever. Amaia smiled tenderly as she noticed this detail and her aunt snapped at her, ‘Don’t look at me like that, I’m not slow, it’s these damn shoes your sister gave me that are two sizes too big. If I pick my feet up I’m likely to go flying so I have to walk as if I’m wearing a dirty nappy.’

      They chatted while they ate, with James telling jokes in his American accent and Aunt Engrasi sharing the local gossip, but Amaia couldn’t help noticing the deep sadness that lay behind the smile with which Ros tried to follow the conversation and the way she tried to avoid eye contact with her sister.

      While James and her aunt took the plates through to the kitchen, Amaia caught her sister’s attention with just a few words.

      ‘I was at the workshop today.’

      Ros looked at her as she sat down again with an expression that revealed both her disappointment and relief at being found out.

      ‘What did she tell you? Or rather, how did she tell you?’

      ‘In her own way. As she does everything. She told me that they’re going to bring out her second book, that they’ve brought up the possibility of a television show, that she is the backbone of the family, a paragon of virtue and the only person in the whole world who knows the meaning of the word responsibility,’ she recited the litany in an exaggerated sing-song voice until she managed to make Ros smile.

      ‘… And she also told me that you don’t work at the workshop anymore and that you have serious problems with your husband.’

      ‘Amaia … I’m sorry that you found out that way, perhaps I should have told you sooner, but it’s something that I’m working through bit by bit, something that I have to do by myself, that I should have done a long time ago. Anyway, I didn’t want to worry you.’

      ‘Don’t be daft, you know worrying is part of my job description and I’m good at my job. As for the rest, I agree with you, I don’t know how you managed to work with her for so long.’

      ‘I suppose it was all there was. I didn’t have any other options.’

      ‘What are you trying to say? We all have more than one option, Ros.’

      ‘We’re not all like you, Amaia. I suppose it was what was expected, that we would continue to run the workshop.’

      ‘Are you trying to reproach me for something? Because if that’s the case …’

      ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but when you went it was as if I didn’t have any choice.’

      ‘That’s not true, you have a choice now and you had a choice then.’

      ‘When Aita died, Ama started behaving very strangely, I suppose it was the first symptoms of Alzheimer’s, and I suddenly found myself trapped between the responsibility Flora demanded of me, Ama’s episodes and Freddy … I suppose at that point Freddy seemed like an escape route.’

      ‘And what’s changed now? Because there’s something you mustn’t forget, and that’s that although Flora might act like the owner and boss of the workshop, it’s as much yours as it is hers, and I gave up my share to you two on that condition. You’re as capable of running the company as she is.’

      ‘That may be so, but it’s more than just Flora and work at the moment, it’s not only because of her, although she has played her part. I suddenly felt like I was drowning there, listening to her and her litany of complaints every day. On top of the problems in my personal life it was just unbearable. Having to go there every morning and listen to the same old story made me so anxious I felt physically ill and emotionally drained. But somehow I also felt as calm and clear-headed as ever. Determined, that’s the word. And all of a sudden, as if the heavens had opened and sent me a sign, it all became clear:

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