‘I can’t believe we’re actually here,’ she said, her hand on the strap of her camera. ‘I feel like I have déjà-vu, which I realise makes me sound completely bonkers.’
‘Well, goodie,’ Josephine replied. ‘Because all the best, most interesting people are.’
They had only got as far the courtyard just inside the park entrance, but already Pepper had spied Gaudí’s iconic and resplendent mosaic dragon perched above them in the centre of a wide, stone staircase.
‘I have always been a fan of art that one is permitted to touch,’ Josephine said, moving away from Pepper to run her fingers across a swathe of broken tiles set into the back wall of an alcove.
‘Wonderful!’ she breathed. ‘And would you look at that stonework.’
Pepper peered up at the little stone houses that contained the ticket office and café, smiling when she saw twisted turrets atop each one.
‘They look as if they’re made from gingerbread.’
‘Certainly a feast for the eyes,’ observed Josephine. ‘Jorge knew so much about Gaudí – did I tell you that mosaics were his favourite art form?’
‘He and I have that in common.’
‘What is it that draws you to those in particular?’
Pepper thought for a moment. ‘I remember being told the story about finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow when I was little,’ she said. ‘But it always made more sense to me that it would be a mosaic – because of all the colours, you know?’
‘That is a lovely notion.’ Josephine’s expression softened. ‘And it would make a fabulous subject for a painting.’
‘I find it satisfying, putting all the pieces together and creating something whole,’ she went on. ‘It started with jigsaws when I was tiny and progressed from there. I suppose I like things to be in the right place, to have a purpose.’
The two of them had begun to make their way up the steps, and in spite of the early hour, there was already a jumble of visitors huddled around the striped dragon. Unlike them, Pepper had no interest in posing for a selfie with it, but she did want to examine the sculpture in more detail, trace a finger over its blue, orange and yellow scales and the rippled arches of its back. The creation was over a century old, but it had none of the tells of age she had expected to find. Each polished piece seemed to glow, as if the dragon really did have fire in its belly.
Josephine had fallen silent, a faraway look on her face.
‘Apologies,’ she said absently. ‘I was just thinking about what Jorge said to me the first time we came here. We stopped right here,’ she put a hand on the dragon’s head. ‘Here on these steps, exactly where you and I are standing now, and he told me that in his mind, we are all mosaics. All of us a sum of our parts. I have thought about that a lot throughout my life.’
‘And do you agree with him?’ Pepper asked.
‘Oh, absolutely.’ Josephine looked down at the dragon rather wistfully. ‘This little fellow here has lasted all these years because of his cracks, not in spite of them. Being imperfect has made him stronger. And isn’t that what mosaics really are – something beautiful from something broken?’
There was a lump in Pepper’s throat that she was forced to swallow before she could reply.
‘Do you think he ever came looking for you?’ she asked. ‘Jorge?’
Josephine’s hand tremored as she clasped it over Pepper’s.
‘If he did, my darling, then I was not aware of it.’
‘He broke your heart,’ she stated. ‘Didn’t he?’
‘Oh, almost certainly,’ agreed Josephine, her voice neutral. ‘But perhaps the cracks he left behind made me stronger in the end.’
A queue had formed behind them as they talked, so she and Josephine continued up the central steps until they reached the Hypostyle Hall. Impressive stone columns stretched up like attention-seeking arms towards a honeycomb ceiling, pockets of which were decorated by large, circular mosaic collages. Pepper made her way to each one in turn, recognising the pattern of the sun and of the sea. It was intricate and inventive work, executed so beautifully, and as she looked, Pepper found herself struck by a deep sense of shame. Pepper had wanted to make a name for herself as an artist since childhood, but until recently, she’d let her insecurities and yearning for so-called perfection stop her from really trying. If she continued to do so, was she letting down those who had lit such a burning trail throughout history for her to follow? Standing here now, it felt as if she would be.
There was a curved pathway behind the hall, and they followed it up and around, Josephine using her stick and Pepper for support as the incline steepened. At the top they discovered a wide veranda that overlooked the park entrance. Undulating bench seats had been carved out neatly along each side like cresting waves, and every surface bar the dusty ground was festooned with shattered pieces of glazed and painted tiles. It all appeared haphazard and spontaneous – just like the sea itself, thought Pepper – but she knew how much painstaking planning and placing it must have taken to achieve such a mesmerising result.
What kind of pattern would her own life make, Pepper wondered, if she were to lay out all the pieces.
‘Jorge used to joke that you could see the Eiffel Tower from here,’ Josephine told her.
They had made their way to the front of the veranda, to where an exquisite view of the city awaited. A cheerful morning sun was beating down on them now, the glorious Spanish heat as relentless as the marching feet of a soldier. Pepper was thankful for the floaty folds of her thin cotton dress, and the copious coatings of sun cream she kept reapplying.
‘We must find him,’ Pepper said beseechingly. ‘I bet he would be so thrilled to see you.’
‘Hmm.’ Josephine continued to stare out over the rooftops.
‘I cherish my memories of Jorge,’ she said. ‘And of myself during that summer I spent with him. We were both so young and insouciant; the world was simply our playground. Jorge was and likely still is the most incredible man, but I am beginning to wonder if seeing him again is the right thing. Going back to Lisbon and coming here with you has been everything I hoped it would be – and more.’
She turned to face Pepper, a telling smile on her lips.
‘But there is always a risk when you dig up the past that you will unearth something you don’t want to find. Jorge and I, our story ended then – to hanker after it is pure sentimentality.’
Pepper looked away, unable not to think of Bethan. In those first, awful weeks following her little sister’s accident, when the world felt as if it had been tipped over like a fishbowl, she wished that it had been she who drowned. She had lost so much of who she was, and the future seemed so impossible. But Pepper had known even as the thought came to her that it was foolish. Life was something – it was precious.
‘It’s not making you feel too melancholy, is it?’ she asked. ‘Being here?’
Josephine patted her arm. ‘Only in a good way. Now, food time soon, I think. I don’t know about you, darling, but I am absolutely ravenous.’
Pepper was halfway through agreeing when her phone vibrated inside her bag. Expecting it to be a reply from Finn, she was dismayed to find a message from the DVLA instead, reminding her that they would be taking out her car tax payment via direct debit. She must have made a small noise of disgruntlement, because Josephine gave her an enquiring look.