Let her fly alone. Perhaps shell get kidnapped over there, muttered the mother-in-law, lines creasing deeper across her brow.
The stifling, dusky evening before the holiday ought to have been filled with light-hearted anticipation and the cheerful confusion of last-minute packing. But in William and Graces flat, the air thrummed with a thinly-veiled tension. In the middle of the lounge, like a monument to anxiety, stood Margaret Jenkins, clutching the television remote like a sceptre.
I absolutely forbid it! Have you all lost your senses? Her voice, a relic from years as a headmistress, rang through the air with steely finality.
The TV screen held a frozen shot of another lurid news segment: a grim-faced presenter tracing thick red arrows across a map of southern Europe, warning of vague dangers.
Grace, calmly folding clothes with the serenity of someone immune to panic, simply sighed. She recognised all the beats of this scene. William, radiating the exhaustion of quiet endurance, tried valiantly to interject.
Mum, honestly, please stop. Its nonsense! Were going to a nice hotel on a proper package
Nonsense!? Margarets sharp gesticulation nearly sent the remote careening into the radiator. William, open your eyes! Shes dragging you into peril! Youll end up in the backstreets of Barcelona, sent out for lager, and come back with one less kidney! Theyll have you in a bathtub of ice, and God knows whatll happen to her! Sold into white slavery or a brotheldont roll your eyes, William, Ive seen the documentaries!
Grace paused, holding a pressed shirt aloft. She looked Margaret straight in the eye, holding her silence just longer than William ever managed.
Mrs. Jenkins, she said, her voice soft but sharp-edged, do you honestly believe every Spaniard is a gangster running an underground kidney shop? And a pimp too, in his spare time?
Dont you dare be sarcastic! You cant argue with the facts. Its right here on the telly! People go abroad for cheap thrills and end up shipped home in jam jars!
William dragged a weary palm over his face.
Mum, they make this stuff up for pensioners who need the adrenaline. Its pure scaremongering to keep you watching. There are millions of tourists
And thousands reported missing! barked Margaret. And as for you, Grace, I expect youve already bought your tickets? Not too late to cancel?
I have, and Im not cancelling, Grace replied plainly. Weve saved up for this trip for two years. Ive done my research, read all the reviews, booked through a major agency. Were not exactly planning midnight strolls through back alleys. Well go on sightseeing tours, sunbathe on the Costa del Sol, and enjoy paella
Theyll poison you with some dreadful soup, youll see, Margaret grumbled. William, son, listen to sense. Let her go on her own if she insists. Her risks, her problem. You stay here, alive and unharmed. A mother just knows when trouble is near.
A heavy, unbearable pause draped itself over the room. And then Grace spoke, her words like a suitcase slamming shutperhaps years in the making.
Very well, she said, fingers closing around her luggage. Youre right, Mrs. Jenkins. Bravery is for the bold. Ill go alone.
Grace! Please? William faltered, shocked.
Youve heard your mother. Her sixth sense is never wrong. I cant be responsible for your liver or kidneys. Nor for seeing you trafficked into slavery. Stay home. You and your mum can have tea and watch world conspiracy programmes. As for me she broke into a wintry smile, Ill go alone, straight to the fiery heart of it all. By myself.
Margaret seemed both triumphant and completely thrown.
Shed gotten her way, yet Graces unexpected willingness to challenge every nightmare unnerved her.
Quite right, she managed, though her fire had dimmed. Youve only yourself to blame.
William tried to plead and reason, but Grace remained unmoved. On their last night, they lay back-to-back in silence.
Are you sure? William whispered.
Absolutely, Grace shot back, final.
*****
The plane dipped into Barcelona, a thick, spicy warmth wrapping itself around Grace like a patchwork quilt of heat and light.
Fear? There was none leftonly a fatigue laced with blistering curiosity. In those first days, following her careful plan, Grace lost herself on teeming, smiling streets. She marvelled at the golden spires of Sagrada Família, tasted street food that shimmered with heat and salt.
No one tried to pinch her purse, much less kidnap her. The cheerful market sellers just grinned and cajoled her into haggling over a euro or two.
She put a snap in the family group chat for William andeven at Margarets requesthis mother: Grace, cocktail in hand, laughing under the bright blue Mediterranean sky. Caption: All organs intact. No job offers yet. Waiting patiently!
William sent a flurry of hearts. Margaret read, watched, and said nothing.
Later, Grace journeyed north to the quiet, green hills beyond Girona. There, at a small guesthouse run by a white-haired señora named Rosa, who taught her the secrets of perfect tortilla, everything turned upside down.
Rosa, with her patchy English, reminded Grace rather uncannily of Margaret.
She fretted over her daughter, whod moved to Manchester for work.
Shes alone, its cold there, the food is strange, and they dont smile at you, Rosa lamented, furiously whisking eggs. I saw it on televisionawful smog, and everyones rude!
Grace looked at her anxious face and, unable to hold it in, burst into laughterher chest shaking, tears welling.
Rosa blinked, confused. Grace, with gestures, photos, and simple words, explained Margaret Jenkins, the drama on British TV, the tales of organs and trafficking.
Rosa listened wide-eyed. Then she too, began to laugha bright, chiming sound.
Oh, mothers everywhere! she cried. All the same, terrified of what they dont know. TVs all daft stories, Spain or England, makes no difference!
That evening, beneath a sky strewn low with stars, Grace found herself dialling not William but Margaretvideo call.
Margaret looked tired, wary.
Well, are you alive? Margaret asked, skipping pleasantries.
Perfectly, Grace nodded. And everything in me is right where it ought to be.
Grace adjusted the camera as Rosa came out with a tray of sweets and tea. Rosa broke into a grin, spotting the stern English face on the screen.
Hello! Rosa cheered. Your daughter-in-law is brilliant! She cooks well! Dont worry, Im keeping an eye. No slavery here! She threw her arms jovially around Grace.
Margaret was silent, watching this sun-burnt stranger hugging her daughter-in-law.
Andyour organs? she stammered at last, the edge in her voice less sure.
Very much attached, smiled Grace. Im eating better than ever, Mrs. Jenkins. Its lovely here, and everyones kind. Isnt it funnyRosa worries over her daughter alone in England, convinced its cold and hostile, because of what the telly says.
A lengthy silence followed.
Let me talk to her, Margaret demanded suddenly. That Rosa.
Grace handed the phone over. For ten surreal minutes, two womenone in a hilltop guesthouse in Spain, one in a small English suburbspoke, understanding scarcely a word, yet seemingly understanding everything. Rosa nodded, smiling; Margarets face softened, inch by inch, finally melting into the awkward beginnings of a smile.
When the call ended, William messaged: Mums just switched off the telly. Said shes sick of all that panic. Asked, When is Grace home?
Grace didnt answer straight away. She watched the stars light up the Spanish darkness and sent one more photo to the group: she and Rosa, smiling, arms round each other, titled: Found an ally. Taking a hot air balloon tomorrow. Dont worry, kidneys in excellent condition. Love x.
The flight home was a feather. At the arrivals hall, William waited. A little behind, with a garish bunch of asters, stood Margaret.
She didnt rush forward, but she didnt scold either. She cleared her throat, held out the flowers.
Soin one piece?
As you see. Not a new owner in sight.
Well then, Margaret huffed, looking away. So, how was it Hows your Rosa?
Driving home, Grace recounted temples, food, the sheer kindness of strangers, laugh-out-loud incidents. Margaret listened, nodding, querying. The television, for once, stayed silent.
In its black blankness shimmered the reflections of three people: a husband wrapping his arm around his wife, and a mother-in-law finally peering at the world not through a haze of revelations, but through the clear eyes of someone whod lived what the television had only threatened.
Later, over tea, Margaret, almost as if testing the water, said softly, Next year if youll have me perhaps Ill join. But not anywhere wild
William and Grace exchanged a delighted, bemused glance. How strange, they thought, the world seen upside down at last.
Yet, two days later, Margaret arrived with flushed cheeks, voice brimming with alarm.
Im not going anywhere with you! Grace, you simply got lucky, Ive just read a reportpeople rescued from dreadful captivity abroad! I shant risk it!
As you like, shrugged Grace.
William, theres plenty to see in England, Margaret declared, with almost triumphant certainty.
Her son just shook his head, knowing better than to argue, as Margarets voice, as always, spun anxieties from the thin summer air.
