The first time I visited mother in the Flat that she and Dad moved to near the end, was just before he died. He was in palliative care at a local hospice and I saw him as much as I could, but coming back into the flat, just mother and me was strange and uncomfortable.
I was thinking back the other day about the things that got us through and, strangely, one of the main things was the flat, itself.
In the mornings we would sit and eat breakfast on the balcony overlooking the Correos square, people watching. We made it a game. We would take turns picking out people who we didn’t know and challenging the other to make up a story about them. Sometimes the story was so compelling and fitted what they were doing so well that, if they came back another day, we would develop their story line and continue it based on what they were doing this time.
When people are not aware that they are under observation, they do the funniest things – from surreptitiously hitching their knickers so that they are more comfortable, to picking noses and spitting. Watching them is a little voyeuristic so we always tried not to and would focus on groups and how people interact, knowing that they are in public view.
My favourite was the guy who went into a pose, whenever a particular woman turned towards him. He would literally freeze like a human statue, in whatever position he happened to be – like a rabbit caught in headlights. Most days, while he sat, sipping coffee, waiting for her to pass, his freezing just involved him holding his cup still, instead of continuing its journey to his mouth. On one occasion, however, she walked up behind him so fast, he jumped and managed to splash coffee down himself and her. He must have stammered his apologies three times before she smiled at him and carried on.
The next day, he was there as normal, but this time she stopped and talked to him for a few minutes before continuing her journey. Within a few days, she was arriving early and stopping to have coffee with him. Really romantic. What was more amazing was how much he started to relax as their friendship blossomed.
A few months later, one Saturday lunch-time, there was a lot of laughing and shouting in the square. When we wandered out on to the balcony, to see what was going on, there they were, with the Mayor, having a civil wedding performed outside the restaurant where they met. There were dozens of brightly coloured friends and relatives, cheering and singing until quite late at night… It was a lovely moment and fitted the story that we had woven around them perfectly.
