Two Old Fools in Spain Again Read Free Page B

toes curling in disgust. Then I added ‘cockroach killer’ to the shopping list before climbing back into bed to snatch a few more hours’ sleep. The noise from next door had stopped.
    In the morning, I let Joe sleep on while I examined the kitchen again and checked ‘cockroaches’ on the Internet. The results didn’t cheer me up at all.
    When Joe arose, I reminded him about our little problem and, this time, he was much more attentive.
    “How many did you see?”
    “Loads!”
    “How many is ‘loads’?”
    “Well, there must have been about … six.”
    “Hmm… Not exactly a plague then?”
    “Don’t be facetious. I’ve just Googled ‘cockroaches’. I read that if you see a few, then it’s likely there are dozens more around, just hidden.”
    I glanced round the kitchen floor, half-expecting to see eyes peering at me from every crevice.
    In England, cockroaches rarely crossed my mind. I didn’t know much about these resilient creatures then, but now I could probably answer questions about them on the TV show, Mastermind .
    There are three main types of cockroach: the American, Oriental and German. Did you know that a cockroach can live for a week without its head, can run at 3 miles an hour and can hold its breath for 40 minutes? Did you know cockroaches have 18 knees and that their mouths work sideways?
    All very interesting, but it didn’t help with the extermination of the wretched things in our kitchen.
    “Would you mind doing the shopping on your own? I want to give the kitchen a really good clean and wash the floor. Here, I’ve made a list.” I handed it to him.
    Joe glanced at the list. “I’m going to need a trailer to bring that lot home.”
    “Well, don’t go to the chicken shop. We can do that together later in the week. Regalo will just have to wait a few more days for some company.”
    Joe set off down the mountain and I washed and disinfected the kitchen floor. Then I swept the front doorstep, which always made me feel very Spanish. Further up the street, the Ufarte twins were playing with the wooden camels on their doorstep, while Granny Ufarte snoozed in her armchair in the shade.
    I waved, but the twins were too immersed in their camel game to notice me. Their little Yorkshire terrier, Fifi, snuffled up to me and I was glad that Joe wasn’t around. Fifi still nursed a deep hatred of Joe and the sight of him would have set her off on a yapping, snarling, nipping fest.
    Roberto and Federico rounded the corner pushing the pram in front of them. As they approached, I leant on my broom and peered into the pram.
    “What a lovely baby!” I said. “What’s her name?” Really I wanted to ask whose baby she was.
    The baby was dressed all in pink, with a matching sunbonnet and little pink shoes embroidered with daisies. I cooed into the pram and she gurgled back.
    “This is Emilia,” said Roberto proudly, while Federico fussed with the baby’s pillow and adjusted her toys.
    “Is she staying with you?” I ventured.
    “Emilia is ours.”
    “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I knew that gay marriage was now legal and I’d heard that adoption by same-sex partners was also now permitted. Judging by little Emilia’s sunny smile and her beautiful clothes and pram, she had fallen on her little pink feet. She was lucky to have found such devoted parents.
    “I’m glad we saw you,” said Roberto, always the more talkative of the two. “We were talking to Juan and Maribel Ufarte and they said you used to babysit for them, before you went to the Middle East.”
    “Er, yes...”
    My hands tightened their grip on the broom. I could see where this was heading and I didn’t know how to stop it.
    “They said you love children.”
    “Yes, but...”
    “Perfect!” said Roberto, clapping his hands and smiling at Federico beside him.
    “In the winter, Federico and I want to take salsa classes down the mountain. You can look after Emilia!”
    “I...”
    “It will be just once a week, for an hour