ID, Please

Through the gap in the zip came a grey light and a little slice of green trouser leg.

“Morning. Anyone in there?”

Axel came out barefoot with all his hair flattened to one side. Two officers stood beside a Civil Guard car: an older one with a moustache, looking at the river with his hands behind his back as though he were on holiday, and a younger one who seemed about to apologise for waking them.

“Morning,” said Axel.

“Morning.” The young one nodded at the sign. “It says you can’t, there.”

“Yeah. We saw.”

“Yeah.”

They stood looking at the sign for a while, like two blokes stopping to watch some building work.

“Right then,” said the officer. “You pack up and we’ll say no more about it. But I need to see some ID, it’s procedure.”

Hortensia was already out, combing her hair with her fingers and in a wonderful mood.

“Morning, love! Shall I make you a coffee? I’ve got a pot.”

“No, madam, thank you.”

“It’s the good stuff, you know.”

“No, madam, really.”

Hortensia handed over her ID between two fingers and Axel took his out. The officer copied the numbers into a little notebook in tiny, very neat handwriting, then looked towards the tent.

“Anyone else in there?”

Eva came out slowly. Barefoot on the grass, the blue rucksack hanging from one hand.

“Can I see your ID?”

“Haven’t got it on me.”

“You haven’t got it on you, or you haven’t got one?”

“Haven’t got one.”

The officer blinked.

“Okay. That’s fine. Just tell me your full name and we’re done.”

“Eva.”

He waited.

“Eva… and?”

Eva went so still that Axel began to worry.

“I do need your surname, miss.”

“Well, no.”

The young one turned towards the car, looking for his partner. The one with the moustache was still looking at the river.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just a formality. I take your details, finish the paperwork and you can go off and have your breakfast in peace.”

The officer asked again for her surname and date of birth. Eva took her time answering, but eventually gave them to him. He wrote them down and asked over the radio for her details to be checked.

A few minutes passed before a record came through on the device clipped to his belt. He opened it, looked at the photograph and turned the screen towards Eva.

“Eva Moreno. Is this you in the photograph?”

Eva nodded without lifting her head. Axel repeated the surname to himself. Moreno. Until that morning, it hadn’t even occurred to him to ask her.

“You’re listed as a missing person,” said the officer. “Report filed a year and four months ago. By a direct family member.” He looked at the screen. “Irene Moreno.”

Eva put her hand to her chest, over her T-shirt, and closed her fist round something she was wearing underneath. One second. Then she dropped it.

She bent down, swung the rucksack onto her shoulder and started walking towards the road. Without looking at anyone.

“Hey! Miss!”

“Eva.” Axel went after her. “Eva, stop.”

She didn’t stop. She walked out of the clearing and carried on along the hard shoulder, barefoot, at a normal pace, like someone popping out for bread.

Axel got ahead of her and stood in front of her.

Eva wasn’t crying, but her face looked so empty that Axel didn’t even know how to approach her.

“Don’t you lot ring her.”

“Eva…”

“Don’t you lot ring her.” She said it loud this time, in a very flat voice. “I haven’t done anything. I haven’t nicked anything, I don’t owe anyone money. I can be wherever I want.”

“Nobody’s saying…”

“A year and four months.” She laughed, and it was horrible. “That’s not missing me, Axel. That’s keeping count.”

The officer came up behind, not running, with his hands held away from his body.

“Miss, you’re an adult. You can be wherever you want with whoever you want. Nobody’s going to make you do anything, all right?” He waited for Eva to look at him. “It’s just there’s an open report, and if I’ve found you, it gets closed. And if it gets closed, we have to let whoever filed it know you’re safe. That’s all. So they stop looking.”

“And are you going to tell her where I’m heading?”

“No. Not if you don’t want us to, no.”

Eva stood looking at the road. Then she pointed her chin at the little notebook.

“What you’re writing down there. Where does it go?”

“This?” The lad looked at his own handwriting. “Into a report.”

“And who reads the report?”

“Well… whoever needs to read it.”

“Yeah.”

She stayed still a moment longer.

“Go on, then, ring,” she said. “But I’m not taking that call.”

They went back to the clearing. The officer moved off and stood with his back to them for a while, talking to the control room. He was spelling things out. Axel heard him say “Rebollo, two Ls”, and then his own name, letter by letter, read off the notebook, and something cold settled on the back of his neck.

Eva sat on the stone table, looking at the river, her hands between her knees. Axel sat down next to her and kept quiet.

Hortensia planted herself beside the officer with her arms folded. When he’d finished speaking to the station, he dialled another number and unconsciously stood to attention.

“Irene Moreno? I’m calling from the Guardia Civil, about your report. Your sister was located this morning, safe and well, in the company of two…”

Hortensia held out her hand.

“Give it here.”

“Madam, I can’t…”

“Give it here, love, I’m not going to break it.”

The lad looked at Eva. Without getting up from the table, she motioned for him to hand it over. Only then did he give it to Hortensia.

Hortensia walked three steps away.

“Irene? No, love, I’m not from the Guardia Civil. I’m a lady who’s travelling with her.”

Hortensia listened for quite a while. From the table they couldn’t make out Irene’s words, but they could hear the loud, tumbling voice that didn’t pause even for breath.

“Yes. Yes, love, I can hear you. No. I’m not telling you that. Or that.”

The voice on the other end went up so high that one word came through on its own: years.

“Listen, sweetheart,” said Hortensia, without batting an eyelid. “Your sister’s fine. She’s living. Let her live.”

She hung up and gave the phone back to the officer, who took it like it was a hand grenade.

“There.”

The one with the moustache, who hadn’t opened his mouth all morning, opened the car door and turned round.

“Over the bridge there’s a picnic area with a fountain,” he said. “That one hasn’t got a sign.”

And he got in.

The young one was last to go, scratching the back of his neck.

“Julián,” he said, out of nowhere.

Axel looked at him.

“My name’s Julián.” He went red. “Nothing. Have a good trip.”

When the officers had gone, they packed their things and Hortensia put the coffee pot on Axel’s stove without asking whether anyone wanted coffee.

The coffee was dreadful.

“This tastes of tin, Hortensia.”

“Well, you’ll drink it anyway. It’s the pot’s first go.”

The three of them drank it standing up, burning their mouths, looking at the river.

Eva drank all of hers.

And didn’t say thank you.