Disappeared: MANTEQUERO BOOK 2 by Jenny Twist Page A

said. “I’m Alison and this is my friend Heather. We’re from England.” All eyes swivelled to Heather and seemed, if anything, to become even more unfriendly. One old chap actually made the sign to ward off the evil eye.
    Undeterred, Alison beamed at them, then turned her attention back to the enormous barman. “Two glasses of house red, please.”
The barman nodded and turned to get the glasses. The old men round the stove were still mumbling. Alison strained to hear what they were saying, but the only snippet she could pick up was, “The fat one should not have come. She will call him.”
    Call who? Hadn’t Johan said something about the Englishwoman calling him? She couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said. Something about a grocer. She’d meant to look it up and forgot.
    The girls took their drinks to a table as near the stove as they could get and engaged in idle chatter whilst Alison tried to listen to the conversation at the next table.
    “What are they saying?” Heather whispered.
    “Nothing I can understand,” Alison lied. It didn’t seem very politic to repeat what she’d heard about the fat one. “Just keep chattering away and I’ll try and tune in.”
    It was easier than she had thought. The accent wasn’t that difficult, once you got your ear in. At first they said very little as they continued their game of dominoes. There were occasional cries of, “Oh, no, I didn’t see that coming”, “Can’t follow that”, “You sly bastard. I know what you’re up to.”  Exactly the same, in fact, as the listening to old men playing dominoes in an English pub.
    The barman came over with a plate of tapas – pickled anchovies and olives with slices of bread. “Thank you,” said Alison, giving him her sweetest smile. He almost smiled back, but caught himself just in time. He’s a natural smiler, Alison thought, a nice, friendly man. He’s just really worried about something. Or afraid. I think he’s afraid.
    The conversation at the next table was beginning to get interesting and she found she could understand most of it.
    “I told him to make sure he locked all the doors and windows and not to invite anyone in, even if he knows them.”
“That’s not true about he has to be invited. My granny told me about her sister who was got by the grocer and she never invited him. He just came.”
    The word he used for grocer was ‘mantequero’ which meant someone who purveyed fat. As he said it, she heard a distant penny drop. I’ve come across this in a different context. But whatever it was, she couldn’t remember it and she went back to concentrating on what they were saying.
Heather was being very patient. Alison wanted to translate for her, but she was afraid she might miss something whilst she was doing so.
    “He likes the fat ones, that’s what they say, and by God that woman was fat. I’ve never seen anyone that fat in my life before.”
    “My aunt Carmen was nearly as fat,” one of them remarked. “and he never came for her.”
    “Yes, but she was very old and stank of wee. Even the mantequero would be put off.”
    There was an outburst of laughter and Alison found herself joining in. It stopped immediately and they turned to stare at her.
    “I also had a very fat aunt who stank of wee,” she said. This was only partly true. Her aunt hadn’t been very fat. “It was worse when she sat by the fire.”
    At this they all burst out laughing again, Alison included.
    Unable to contain herself any longer, Heather grabbed Alison’s arm. “What did you say?” she demanded.
    This time Alison did stop to interpret and Heather laughed as well. The old man with the fat aunt lifted his hand to the barman and ordered more drinks. When they came there was more wine for Alison and Heather as well. And more tapas. In no time the conversation had turned to searching questions about the girls. Where did they live? How old were they? What did they do for a living? Why had they chosen to