No More Running by Aileen Cleave

No more running.        A short story by Aileen Cleave

Her breath was coming in short, painful gasps and it took every ounce of will power to continue putting one foot in front of the other, so leaden were her legs.  But fear dimmed the pain; she had to get away , had to put as much distance as possible between herself and her pursuers.

The noise was low at first but slowly rising  to an ear piercing crescendo.  Some part of her knew to reach out and silence the alarm on her phone.  In so doing, consciousness slowly returned.  It was a dream - it was THE dream, recurring in times of stress throughout the past decade.  Pamela got out of bed slowly, stiffly, her tired limbs railing against any sudden movement.  She walked towards the French windows and went out onto the terrace, confident as always that her view of Los Filabres mountains would be a balm to her anxious mind.  Today was the tenth anniversary of Michael’s desertion, ten years of pain, of loneliness, of struggling to survive financially and, by far the worst part, of keeping her heartache from her children back in England.   They knew about the split of course, but nothing of the anguish it had caused her nor of the near-overwhelming debt he had left  behind.

Learning of his re-mortgaging the villa had been the blow that very nearly felled her.  Somehow she had survived and later today,  God willing, that mortgage would be finally paid off and leave a handsome sum for her new project.  They had bought the villa 25 years ago when land was ridiculously cheap, bought it with her money from the sale of her family home in Yorkshire, but with his income helping with its upkeep.  Sadly, the lure of Spanish brandy and cheap gin had gradually dissipated his ambition and his work ethic.  By the time he waved a final farewell, there was little, if any, left of their original passion.  For Pamela, just gut-wrenching disillusionment,failure and heartache for what could have been.

Determinedly batting away any negative images, she made a pot of coffee, took it back onto the terrace and channeled her thoughts towards positive things, inhaling with pleasure the delicious aroma of the freshly ground coffee, and drinking in the spectacular view of undulating  mountains, with valleys covered in olive trees and almond trees.  

It took an impending visit from her daughters to kick start her fight-back, and the first step was to approach the Registry of Tourism of Andalucia to learn what was needed to convert her large, five bedroom  villa into a Casa Rural, a bed and breakfast place but licensed to sell liquor and evening meals.    It had been slow going to start, and incredibly hard work, but she found the work cathartic.  She was fortunate with the staff she chose, and after four years she felt brave enough to hire a chef.  Then, with a staff of four and herself, she had pushed on to win many accolades on social media and promoted her restaurant for its extensive vegetarian dishes.  But next month she would be 66, definitely time to retire from the hospitality business and begin the next phase of her life.

It was 9 o’clock and the September sun was already  warm.   Pulling her iPad towards her, she clicked on Rightmove, bringing up a picture of a Victorian terraced cottage bearing the legend “Yorkshire Dales”.  If all goes well today, this purchase was going to augment her pension and help fund her future travels, her future world travels.  She had never been on a long haul flight, never travelled outside Europe, well, Spain really.  The sale of her beautiful Andalucian Casa Rural was going to repay her handsomely for all her hard work.

She would miss this place, this view, and all the many friends she had made during her 25 years of living here.  In truth, a number of those friends had either returned to the UK or sadly had died.   She certainly couldn’t leave it any later.  Her plan was simple.  She caught her breath, she knew only too well how easily plans can go awry.  She was almost afraid now at this late stage to tempt fate by allowing herself the luxury of dwelling on her exciting future.  Don’t be ridiculous, she admonished herself, don’t ever be afraid to think of good things, of hoping and expecting good things.    She closed her iPad  and took the coffee things indoors.  She needed to shower and dress and be at the Notary by 12,00.

***

It  was done.  She could hardly believe it.  She sat in her car, packed high with suitcases and beloved pieces she couldn’t leave behind, and stared at her hands, still shaking slightly.  The notary’s office is a very stressful place.  One can never be sure there won’t be a last minute hiccup, the Notario’s eagle eyes picking up on a missing licence or some similar hitch. But no, all went like a dream, the funds lodged successfully in her account and the keys to her home of 25 years handed over to the estate agent.

Now and only now did she dare think of what comes next.  It  was too hot  to sit in the car, and she noted  a little bar on a corner a few yards away.  It had outside seating and some welcome shade.  Once seated there, she ordered a white wine and some olives and sat back in her seat to take stock.  All  done here, farewell to friends organised for tonight, and tomorrow she would set out for Santander and thence a drive to Yorkshire to sign for and pay the balance on her little Victorian terrace.   Her intention was to spend six weeks familiarising herself with the house,  the village and the area in general, inviting her girls to visit and hopefully stay a few days before choosing a rental agent to rent out the house for twelve months and then……

She closed her eyes and mentally pinched herself.  Was this really happening?   She was about to embark on a round the world trip, not in luxury by any means, but independently. First to Singapore, then Australia, New Zealand and then flying to Los Angeles to hire a  camper van to drive across that huge country to New York.  After that, who knows? Perhaps South America, perhaps the Yorkshire Dales,  perhaps back to renting in Andalucia - she hadn’t rescinded her residency.  She felt incredibly lucky, fate and hard work had granted her an independence she had hardly dared hope for.

It was all so terrifying but she had never felt so alive.  Whatever time was left to her in good health, she was going to live it to the full.