{"id":12932,"date":"2025-07-04T13:44:33","date_gmt":"2025-07-04T12:44:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=12932"},"modified":"2025-12-20T13:16:00","modified_gmt":"2025-12-20T12:16:00","slug":"great-potential-trans-beth-fowler","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=12932","title":{"rendered":"Great Potential (trans. Beth Fowler)"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"
Image: \u00a9 Courtesy of Manchester City Galleries<\/span><\/p>\n

Sometimes, Amelia hides behind the railings and stands there watching her classmates swarm out and launch themselves at the mothers waiting for them at home time with sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil, donuts for the lucky ones, and maybe even a Bollycao for the chosen few. Amelia likes to linger there, halfway between those two worlds, school and street, clutching her backpack with a picture of the Olympic mascot Cobi, his arms outstretched and wearing a suit and tie. \u2018Friends for life<\/em>\u2019 reads the outside pocket. On tiptoes, peering through the jasmine that tangles around the bars, she fantasizes for a moment. She watches those mothers waiting for her classmates, her friends, and wonders what it would be like to have a mum like Susana, for example, who comes to fetch Mat\u00edas in a huge white 4×4 that she parks on the corner. Or like Pati, her best friend Tito\u2019s mum, who has no husband because he died but who does have a house with a swimming pool, where Amelia sometimes goes on a Friday. Or Antonia, always fun and friendly, whose son Alejo got a trip to Paris when one of his milk teeth came out: the Ratoncito P\u00e9rez left a card left under his pillow with a cut-out silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.<\/p>\n

Some days, Amelia lets her mind wander to expensive gifts ensconced in velvet boxes, swimming pools in leafy gardens and mothers whose bags always seem to contain freshly-baked croissants, peanut butter sandwiches or chocolates with cherries in the middle, like in the TV series she watches. But she also knows there are other mothers like Leonor, whose daughter Ana is the smartest kid in class \u2013 Leonor is one of those mothers, the worst kind, who bring their child a snack of chopped fruit in a clip-lock tub, or dried fruit, and that, Amelia is certain, \u2018really would be too much to bear.\u2019 At least, she consoles herself, sometimes, when her dad isn\u2019t there, her mum lets her eat toast smeared with two-colour Nocilla.<\/p>\n

Her mother is waiting on her usual corner, chatting with a couple of other mums who are waiting for Mat\u00edas and Ana. She greets Amelia with open arms and a sandwich in the pocket of her raincoat; she pulls it out as her daughter arrives and scolds her for being the last one out of class, as she always seems to be these days.<\/p>\n

\u2018We\u2019re off to view apartments,\u2019 she says, waving goodbye to the other mums. \u2018Hopefully we\u2019ll find something so we can get out that neighbourhood we\u2019re in just now.\u2019<\/p>\n

None of her school friends has ever been to her house, the tiny apartment with no lift in \u2018that neighbourhood\u2019 where she and her parents live. For that reason, Amelia tends to celebrate her birthday in cafes or parks; once they even held her party in Tito\u2019s garden because their birthdays are the same month. Amelia complains that she wants to invite her friends home, but her mother won\u2019t be persuaded: they live too far away, she says, just too far. A couple of months ago, though, she decided they\u2019re going to move and so Amelia accompanies her every Friday afternoon after school, going from labyrinthine single-family homes with indoor pools and gardens to exclusive penthouses with balconies and views over the park. She\u2019s learned not to ask questions and much less when there are people around. And under no circumstances to mention money, that small and mocking god, as her mother calls it, that forcibly keeps them apart from a full life, from the interference-free hum of genuine happiness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At the age of nine, Amelia is used to her mother changing her mind and telling a different story depending on who she\u2019s speaking to at the time. She says, for example, that they live in \u2018that neighbourhood\u2019 because grandma is getting old and they can\u2019t leave her on her own. Or because her husband\u2019s consulting room is nearby, so close he can come home for lunch, he\u2019s such a homebody. But her father has no consulting room. He used to have one. She still remembers those days and sees flashes of early childhood, the apartment at the beach, that time they went to the States and hired a car: the automatic seatbelt that slid along a track above the door until it clicked itself into the slot. And the photo of her with Goofy in front of the Disney castle and the orange-coloured melon, cantaloupe it was called, that tasted so strange and came served on a plastic tray when they took a break at a rest stop.<\/p>\n

But then again, her grandmother, who\u2019s the one who pays for her school, isn\u2019t really that old. Just last summer, when Barcelona got all spruced up to host the Olympic Games, they saw her come home from the football final, Spain against Poland, with the Spanish flag painted on her cheek, claiming that she and her friends, also widows, had climbed up on their seats to chant \u2018Quico, Quico, Quico,\u2019 when said player scored the goal that won Spain its gold.<\/p>\n

Amelia never knows what to say when people ask about her house. She surprised herself, one afternoon in Tito\u2019s pool, by claiming that she had a pool on the terrace too and that hers was even a bit bigger and had orange lifebelts that the lifeguard \u2013 because she invented a lifeguard as well \u2013 allowed her to play with.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When they have said goodbye to her classmates and the other mums, they head for the street with the weeping willows and Amelia listens closely to all kinds of details about the apartments they\u2019re going to see.<\/p>\n

\u2018I like one of them more than the other, Ame,\u2019 her mum tells her as they walk down Calle Escoles Pies. \u2018Because it has a little room with a pool table, we could turn it into a playroom for you. Like Tito has. What do you think?\u2019<\/p>\n

Her mother, tall and elegant in her patent leather shoes, which Amelia thinks are the most beautiful shoes in the world, brushes her fringe aside to read the particulars from the cutting she has taken from her bag: \u201cFamily special, great potential. Spectacular duplex penthouse with private swimming pool, located on one of the best streets around Tur\u00f3 Park. Complex with superintendent and security monitoring. Apartment surrounded by spacious balconies, main living area on one level, with service area and pool upstairs.\u2019<\/p>\n

Amelia nods, excited by the potential, and, when they reach the right address, the agent is already waiting for them and he leads them into an elegant lobby where they greet the doorman. He shows them the penthouse and, amid her mother\u2019s sighs and exclamations, the agent tells them it\u2019s one of the most beautiful apartments he has ever seen.<\/p>\n

\u2018The price won\u2019t be a problem for us,\u2019 she hears her mother say. \u2018I lived in an apartment very similar to this for a while. I was working in London and lived in a gorgeous part of the city, so green and leafy. I was assistant manager in a textile company.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Interesting,\u2019 replies the agent. \u2018Barcelona must seem like a village compared to London.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018You can get used to anything. But we\u2019d be better in a home like this, that\u2019s for sure. You know, it\u2019s only because of family that we\u2019re currently living so far from here.\u2019<\/p>\n

When they leave, they walk as fast as her mother\u2019s patent leather shoes will allow.<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh Ame, it makes me so nostalgic. London\u2026 now there\u2019s a real city. Can you imagine us living there? Near Regent\u2019s Park? One of these days, when you\u2019re a bit older, I\u2019ll go back to the company and then you\u2019ll see,\u2019 she tells her. \u2018We\u2019ll go, just you and me.\u2019<\/p>\n

When her parents get mad at each other, it\u2019s always in the evening and Amelia listens to their arguments camouflaged by the dialogue of whatever movie they\u2019re watching. Her mum exclaims, with theatrical distress, that she\u2019s had enough of this life and then Amelia curls into a ball under her quilt. \u2018If you\u2019re so clever, what are you doing here with a failure like me, huh?\u2019 says her dad. And Amelia feels annoyed at him, although she doesn\u2019t really know why. She assumes it all has something to do with that small and mocking god, vacations, wanting something you never have, but her mum\u2019s string of complaints and woes is always drowned out by those same few words from her dad: \u2018Not on your wages, eh sweetheart?\u2019 The argument is cut short and Amelia hears crying and even doors slamming. But then the next morning, her mother is bright and cheerful again and walks her to the bus stop for school.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The second viewing is an \u2018exclusive single-family home with garden in Pedralbes. Needs renovation, great potential.\u2019 It has three floors and a vast, if rather unkempt garden containing a single palm tree \u2013 rather dry and dead-looking \u2013 and a shed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll sleep there,\u2019 Amelia cries happily.<\/p>\n

The agent smiles:<\/p>\n

\u2018That\u2019s where the gardener keeps his tools.\u2019<\/p>\n

There\u2019s no playroom in this house, which is light and airy despite the outdated tiles and stippled walls. The only thing that\u2019s new are the automatic blinds that the agent is demonstrating, and to Amelia it seems like magic that, with just the touch of a button, he can plunge one room into darkness as they move on into the next.<\/p>\n

\u2018What do you think, Ame? Shall we take it?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I like the blinds,\u2019 she replies.<\/p>\n

\u2018Your daughter\u2019s a cutie,\u2019 says the agent with a knowing smile.<\/p>\n

\u2018The money\u2019s no problem,\u2019 her mother says again. \u2018But we would need to move now\u2026and, also, the fact that the tennis court in the complex isn\u2019t finished yet, when the advert in the paper implies that it is\u2026 I don\u2019t know whether my husband will go for it, you know what I mean?\u2019<\/p>\n

The agent nods.<\/p>\n

\u2018But yes, we\u2019ll think about it. It\u2019s certainly a desirable place, although of course it needs quite a bit of work. And since we\u2019re here, I know this is silly but, that single palm tree in the garden\u2026 could we get rid of it? It looks very lonely, don\u2019t you think? Like a metaphor or something.\u2019<\/p>\n

Her mother expects the agent to reply, but he raises an eyebrow waiting for her to continue. Amelia withdraws slightly. She notices that strange feeling again. A sense of anxiety, of unease. She is overwhelmed by that word burning inside her. Smarting on her lips.<\/p>\n

\u2018A metaphor?\u2019 asks the agent.<\/p>\n

\u2018For loneliness, I mean\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, either way, you can get rid of the palm tree. Of course you can.\u2019<\/p>\n

Once they\u2019ve said goodbye to the agent, Amelia asks what a metaphor is.<\/p>\n

\u2018Sweetie, don\u2019t they teach you anything in school these days? It\u2019s like if you have very soft skin and I say your skin is velvet. Or silk.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But what about the palm tree?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Look\u2026 it doesn\u2019t matter, love. My god, what with you and your father, I\u2019ve got quite the pair of exceptional minds to deal with.\u2019<\/p>\n

On the way to the bus stop, her mother continues citing more examples of metaphors and Amelia nods, captivated. Later, she goes back to reminiscing about her time living in London, when she was still working. For now, her mum has \u2018temporarily,\u2019 as she always makes a point of clarifying, decided not to work. Ever since what happened to her father with the consulting room, and that taboo word: bankruptcy<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, it\u2019s not as though we loved those houses, did we Ame?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Sure,\u2019 says Amelia.<\/p>\n

\u2018So it\u2019s not like we need to tell your dad about them. When we find the place we like, we\u2019ll tell him. Like a surprise.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Will we be able to buy it?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Of course we will! What kind of a question is that?\u2019<\/p>\n

Waiting under the shelter at the bus stop, Amelia thinks about confessing to the lie she told Tito. She\u2019s scared of being found out, but in the end she decides not to and they step onto the bus. For a moment, it feels as though that strange sensation might come back again, that word burning in her throat. But she is soon distracted watching a baby sleeping peacefully inside its carrycot. It\u2019s ten stops to Pla\u00e7a Catalunya, where they get off to walk to the metro. Another five stops to home, to \u2018that neighbourhood.\u2019 Amelia knows the route by heart.<\/p>\n

Her mother wants to leave the neighbourhood and her father always says they can\u2019t afford to and that if she had wanted a rich man, she should have thought about that earlier.<\/p>\n

\u2018I deserved something more than this,\u2019 Amelia has heard her mother say to a friend on the phone.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, Amelia, as she watches her from the school gate, wants to tell her mum not to worry about her, to go back to work, in London. To be assistant manager. Manager. But she also remembers what her father had called her \u2013 \u2018liar\u2019 \u2013 during another of their arguments. Amelia never knows what to think. In her mind, her mother is a capable woman who could do anything she put her mind to. Anything.<\/p>\n

On the metro, the two of them clutching the central pole, doing a balancing act to stay on their feet, her mother asks what she wants for dinner and Amelia says fajitas.<\/p>\n

\u2018When will we move house, mum?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Soon. We have to find the right place for us, don\u2019t we? The perfect home. In London, it was quite a challenge to find it, you wouldn\u2019t believe. Of course, I worked long hours and finished late, when all the estate agents were closed, the English do everything very early\u2026 I had dinner at seven at the latest, can you imagine?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Will you go back to work one day?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Amelia, sweetheart, who would take care of you then?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Tito has a childminder. I could have a childminder too. Or grandma.\u2019<\/p>\n

She watches the train doors close and notices her mother\u2019s slightly chipped nails. They grab onto the central pole again, warm from other hands, and Amelia moves hers lower down, where she senses she\u2019ll find cold metal. She thinks again about the palm tree, the metaphor of the palm tree.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, she finds her eyes are welling up. There\u2019s that word burning inside her. It\u2019s been choking her for days, months. When her mother clears the table, when she meticulously folds the cotton handkerchiefs with her father\u2019s initials. When she reminisces about London and Regent\u2019s Park but never shows her photos from that time. Or that day when she helped Amelia with her composition for English class and confused chicken<\/em> with kitchen<\/em> and Amelia didn\u2019t have the heart to point out her mistake. Or when she returns clothes she has worn but can\u2019t pay for. Or the story of that old boyfriend she once had who lived in a mansion with marble basins and a chauffeur \u2018with a hat and everything.\u2019 Sometimes, the word seems to scald her lips and she feels like crying. Because lately she gets the sense that her mother is afraid. That she\u2019s scared and alone, grabbing onto to the central pole on a metro train that she doesn\u2019t dare get off.<\/p>\n

She decides to say it, the word. But then she realizes there\u2019s only one stop to go and some Romanians have joined the carriage, singing \u2018cerco un centro di gravit\u00e1 permanente<\/em>\u2019 to the sound of an accordion and her mother moves as if she\u2019s about to start dancing, to make her laugh, and Amelia fixes her eyes uncomfortably on the unstuck plaster peeking out from the electric blue patent leather of her left shoe. Her eyes sting, and the word returns, but she hesitates, because she\u2019s worried she\u2019ll get it wrong, and the train is slowing as they reach their station and, just before they get off, she begins:<\/p>\n

\u2018Mummy\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n

But she stops short. Her heart feels like it\u2019s burning and she falls silent. They step out of the carriage and her mother hasn\u2019t even heard her.<\/p>\n

She won\u2019t say it.<\/p>\n

Amelia grows, she matures as they walk along the platform and her mother tells her about that time in London when a man who owned a designer furniture company asked her to marry him, but she said no. \u2018So, which of the houses we saw today would you take, huh, Amelia? You\u2019re being very quiet. Oh, I can\u2019t wait for us to make fajitas together.\u2019 And as they climb the stairs that will finally lead them outside, to that neighbourhood a world away from the swimming pools and 4x4s waiting for schoolkids on the corner, Amelia clasps her mother\u2019s hand tightly, and her mother laughs and says be gentle. That she\u2019s squeezing so hard her fingers hurt and could she please let go. But Amelia doesn\u2019t want to and, even though she\u2019s upset, sick to her stomach even, she knows that her only duty is to keep hold of her so that she, her mother and the woman she thinks she is, will stay. Because if she lets go, she\u2019ll disappear.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

____<\/p>\n

Laura Ferrero<\/strong>\u00a0(Barcelona, 1984) is a writer, journalist and scriptwriter. She is the author of the short story collections\u00a0Piscinas vac\u00edas\u00a0(Alfaguara, 2016) and\u00a0La gente no existe\u00a0(Alfaguara, 2021), from which this story is taken, the novels\u00a0Qu\u00e9 vas a hacer con el resto de tu vida\u00a0(Alfaguara, 2017) and\u00a0Los astronautas\u00a0(Alfaguara, 2023), and the illustrated album\u00a0El amor despu\u00e9s del amor\u00a0(2025), in collaboration with Marc Pallar\u00e8s. She frequently contributes to\u00a0El Pa\u00eds\u00a0and participates in the radio programme\u00a0La Ventana, on Cadena SER. She writes film scripts and in 2023 co-wrote, with director Isabel Coixet, the script for the film\u00a0Un amor.<\/em><\/p>\n

Beth Fowler<\/strong>\u00a0(Inverness, 1980) translates from Spanish and Portuguese to English. In 2010, she won the Harvill Secker Young Translators’ Prize, and since then has translated seven novels and several short stories. She also translates for art galleries and museums.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Image: \u00a9 Courtesy of Manchester City Galleries Sometimes, Amelia hides behind the railings and stands there watching her classmates swarm out and launch themselves at the mothers waiting for them at home time with sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil, donuts for the lucky ones, and maybe even a Bollycao for the chosen few. Amelia likes to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":398,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[434,432],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nGreat Potential (trans. 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