The Holiday Swap

by Zara Stoneley

  There was a slight chill in the air, and she hugged her arms round her body as she stood on the balcony and leaned over the wrought-iron surround, shifting her gaze to watch the people below. A murmur of noise travelled up on the still night air, a gentle buzz pierced by the odd shrill laugh. The cultural centre was lit up, casting a ghostly blue-white shimmer of light over the square, and beyond it there was a smattering of windows lit up in the buildings that surrounded it like sentries.

  She took a deep breath, then gazed back up at the inky-blackness. It could be lonely in a city. How often had she heard that? But tonight it didn’t feel that way. Tonight it felt like a beginning. Like she was doing the right thing.

  The apartment already felt like home, with its white, arched, high ceilings that were divided by traditional Catalan beams – so different to the heavy oak ones at home. The kitchen was small, functional, part of the open-plan living area, but more than adequate for living in a city like this where she guessed eating out was the norm. And it was light, bright. Welcoming.

  But she really needed her bed. Really. This standing up business was so over-rated. She pulled the doors shut and flicking the light off, made her way into the white-painted, modern bedroom that was so different to her cosy cottage one.

  ***

  Daisy launched herself forward as the buzzer went. It might only be a three-legged race but she was in it to win it. She glanced over at Jimmy, who was laughing and holding her back. He wanted her to stay where she was with him, but she couldn’t, they had to race. They had to get to the end, get past everybody else. She tugged, tripped up over the hem of her wedding dress. There was a second buzzer, they were in shorts, they could do it this time, she grabbed his arm trying to get him to move, it was another chance. Anna streaked past them, she was on her own. It wasn’t fair, that wasn’t in the rules. She turned to Jimmy to yell at him, but it wasn’t Jimmy, it was Javier. The buzzer went again. It wasn’t right, they couldn’t keep re-starting the race.

  The buzz went on and on; noisy, annoying. She flung an arm out to stop it and her hand hit something hard. It hurt. Daisy sat bolt upright, shocked out of her weird dream. There was another buzz.

  ‘Hell, what time is it?’ She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten o’clock. Bugger, how did that happen? And why was somebody ringing her doorbell? She didn’t know anybody.

  The sheet was tangled round her feet, well that was what happened when you had a race in your dreams, so it took a moment or two to get out – but the buzzing hadn’t stopped.

  She stared at the intercom. Hmm. So how did she answer this?

  ‘Er, hola?’

  The rich, deep laugh startled her. ‘Your Spanish is coming on. It’s Javier, I’ve got something for you.’ He chuckled and the heat rushed through her body like an express train, no stopping, building up steam as it went. He’d been in her dream. How absolutely, excruciatingly embarrassing. She hardly knew the man – and it wouldn’t have been so bad if she never had to see him again. But he was here, on her doorstep.

  No more red wine, definitely no more red wine. It had given her hallucinations.

  ‘Can I come up?’

  ‘Er, well yes.’ Dressing gown, she needed a dressing gown. But it would take him at least five minutes to get up all the steps, so she didn’t have to panic. It was fine. She could dress.

  She didn’t have time to dress. He must have bolted up the stairs faster than her red-hot flush. He wasn’t even panting when she opened the door. A crack. ‘Hang on, don’t go away.’ She could at least have the decency to dress for the man.

  He didn’t go away. He was still there when she’d pulled on her jeans, sloppy sweater, and dragged her fingers through her hair.

  ‘Hi! Sorry about that, I was just …’

  ‘No problem.’ He laughed. ‘I’m not surprised you needed a lie-in.’

  ‘Really?’ Oh God, how drunk had she been?

  ‘You were one of the last to leave.’

  Ahh. So maybe not too drunk.

  He grinned. ‘You’re tougher than me. I’m a lightweight – I’d have a stinking hangover if I’d drunk that much.’

  Okay, very drunk.

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it though.’

  ‘Thank you. Did you?’

  ‘Sure, more business than pleasure for me though.’

  Apart from your wife, or girlfriend, or whatever you call the woman you gave a bear hug to. ‘Oh yes, did you get much interest?’

  ‘A few people took leaflets, but you never know.’ He shrugged. ‘Keeps me busy enough though. You forgot this.’ He held something out.

  ‘Oh my God, I didn’t? I did! Oh crumbs, I remember. Oh thank you so much.’ She clutched his arm. Oh no, this was in danger of overlapping with the surreal three-legged race dream, she diverted her grip and made a grab for the Kindle instead. Hoping he’d just think she was still seeing double. ‘Oh no, I can’t believe I left it. You’ve saved my life.’

  He laughed. ‘Well I wouldn’t quite—’

  ‘No, honestly. I can’t survive without my books.’ She daren’t go back to any more meet-ups if she’d got that drunk, who knows what she’d done. What she’d said. So what else was she supposed to do in the evenings now apart from watch Spanish TV that she didn’t understand?

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’

  He took a step backwards. ‘I better get off actually, I’ve got to see—’

  Her. Why would he want a coffee with some mad English woman when he had a gorgeous girlfriend waiting at home? ‘Oh sure, fine, sorry. Thanks though, for this.’ She waved the Kindle, nearly hitting the poor man. ‘Maybe see you around some time.’

  ‘Sure.’ He grinned. Bright white teeth shining out from the megawatt smile. Then rubbed one hand over his lightly stubbled chin. ‘You did actually book on three of my tapas tours.’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘You did. Don’t worry, I’ll only hold you to one.’

  ‘Oh good, I…’

  ‘See you around then, you’ve got my number.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘You saved it under Tapas Man I think.’

  ‘Ah. Sorry.’ She must have been really drunk – really, really drunk. She was surprised she’d remembered her coat and bag, or where she lived.

  ‘I walked back with you.’

  So she hadn’t remembered where she lived.

  ‘I am so sorry, I don’t usually—’ Oh hell, what on earth would his girlfriend have thought of her? And everybody else? That was meet-ups struck off the list for good then.

  ‘It wasn’t a problem, I was coming this way. Just to be on the safe side, it’s confusing down these little side streets in the dark when all the shutters are down.’

  Very nice of him to give her an excuse, but it was no wonder he was in a rush to go.

  ‘See you later then.’

  She shut the door behind him and leaned on it, then slithered down into a sitting position, and stared at her Kindle. One night on her own and she’d gone crazy. Tonight was definitely a night in. With a good book.

  The buzzer went off and she jumped, which wasn’t surprising as it was within touching distance. Who the hell was it now? Surely she couldn’t have left a trail of stuff last night to be returned by random strangers, or maybe she had, she should check she did actually have her coat. And her bag.

  ‘Hola.’ She was getting good at this.

  ‘Me again.’ The sound of people walking along the street drifted up through the intercom. There was a pause. The silence lengthened. For a moment she thought he’d gone. ‘You said you liked books, I was just wondering, well there’s a massive second-hand-book market in Sant Antoni today, I thought maybe you’d like—’

  ‘Oh yes, yes please! I mean yes that would be lovely,’ she paused, ‘with you?’

  ‘Of course with me. It’s my job, showing people round the city I love.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ll come back in a couple of hours.’

  ‘But if it’s work.’

&n
bsp; ‘No charge. Honestly, I’ve nothing planned today. It’s a quiet time.’

  ‘Well if you’re sure your girlfriend won’t…’ But he’d already gone. He didn’t mind because it was his job. She sighed. Or because Flo had told him to do it.

  ***

  ‘This looks quite a bit like the Cultural Centre in El Born.’

  Javier grinned. ‘I’ll have to enlist you as a tour guide.’

  Daisy frowned. It was an automatic reaction, and Anna was always telling her off and saying she’d get wrinkles. ‘I like reading up on stuff, knowing my facts.’

  ‘I wasn’t criticising.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise.’ He laughed and his blue eyes shone, why had she thought they looked sad?

  ‘Sorry, oops, I did it again. It’s a bad habit the apologising, same as the research stuff.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t do spontaneous, I do in-depth analysis.’

  ‘Okay, so here’s a dose of my research. Ready for this?’

  She nodded wondering what was coming next.

  ‘Barcelona has lots of historic markets, which serve the different districts. The most famous is La Boqueria – that’s the big one on the Rambla that everybody visits – which was first mentioned back in 1217, but it was 1840 when construction started on the version that’s there now. Then there’s your market in El Born, Ribera, which was a food market at one time. That one was designed not long after in 1873 by a guy called Antoni Rovira i Trias and constructed in iron. It was used as a market until 1971, and then in ’77 they decided to renovate it. It’s all a pretty long story, but in 2002, when they were excavating, they discovered ruins of the medieval city, and so in 2013 it was re-opened as a cultural centre.’ He grinned, slightly sheepishly, ‘sorry I’m no good at remembering much more than that, but if you go in there’s loads of information boards.’ She opened her mouth to comment and he held up a hand. ‘Hang on, there’s more, I’m getting to the point. The mercat here in Sant Antoni was also designed by the same architect, which is why it looks kind of familiar, it was built between 1872 and 1882 and is one of the oldest in the city.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘This one’s bigger, on a cross shape, whereas the El Born one is more of a rectangle with extra bits. The architect is pretty well known, there’s even a statue of him up in Gracia and he was responsible for lots of other stuff, other markets and well, you can read a proper guidebook to save me boring you.’

  ‘You’re not boring me at all. It’s much better hearing it first hand.’ Daisy smiled. Just listening to his voice was lovely. It was wonderfully soft and syrupy warm, the rise and fall wrapping her in a hug of words that had her hanging on to every syllable. And he sounded as though he really cared, as though it all meant something, even though he was so self-effacing about it. ‘But I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do and want to get on.’ Jimmy would have never spent the time explaining something to her – he’d have passed her a book. Not that he’d have been interested in anything like this – his main fascination was with tractor engines, and explaining why she needed to lend him the money to buy spare parts.

  ‘I wouldn’t have asked you here if I had other stuff to do. Come on, let me show you the book market – I can’t wait to hear what you think.’ He winked and his gorgeous dimples deepened. ‘I reckon you’ll love it.’

  A little shiver ran down Daisy’s backbone as his gaze met hers. He looked so sincere, as though he did really, truly care. As though her opinion mattered to him. He was sweet, he was adorable, and he was amazingly attractive. And she reckoned she’d love anything and everything if he was there to show her.

  She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. He had a girlfriend and he was just being nice, and she really had to make sure he didn’t feature in any more of her dreams.

  ‘I reckon you could be right.’ Now that didn’t sound too desperately keen, did it?

  ‘It’s amazing.’ Daisy squeezed her way through the people so that she could look at the collections of postcards, the comic stalls, the tables crowded with books. ‘It’s a shame most of them are in Spanish.’

  Javier grinned. ‘Catalan, which makes it even harder. I can get by speaking it, but my reading and writing is a bit dodgy.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Had enough yet?’

  Daisy glanced up at him and couldn’t help smiling. ‘Well, I could spend another hour or two, but I’m parched. Fancy a beer?’ He was the perfect companion, easy going, funny, and she could see why Flo liked him so much. When she thought about it, she could chat to him as easily as she did to Jimmy. Well, in fact, more easily, as he was so engaging, drawing comments out of her, teasing her, murmuring little asides that were almost intimate as they searched through the books, their fingers brushing as the crowd pushed them closer. They were in it together, sharing the experience, not just two people living it out in their own way. And she wanted to draw out every second, to make it last as long as she could.

  So it was a bit like being back home, but better – comfortable, but not as in we’ve-been-together-forever-and-don’t-need-to-listen-any-more comfortable. And without the sex and the complications. She hated complications. Why couldn’t life just be simple? Oh hell, how was she going to explain all this to Jimmy and get him to see sense, without hurting him?

  Chapter 12 – Flo. Scooters are easier

  After a disturbed night, when Flo was sure she’d heard a ghost knocking around in the attic, she woke up feeling legless. Literally. Not in a ‘I had too much to drink last night’, more as in a ‘somebody amputated my legs in the night’.

  She wriggled frantically and there was a groan. Which wasn’t her. She froze, then dared open an eye. One was staring straight back at her indignantly. A big, brown, Mabel eye.

  She gave up on the trying to sit up and collapsed back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

  ‘How the hell did you get on the bed, Mabel? You’re supposed to be downstairs.’ It came flooding back to her. She’d actually got up to go in search of the ghost, armed with a hairbrush (she could have backcombed any assailant to death), and only found the sleepy dog. When Mabel had followed her upstairs she knew she shouldn’t have let her, but who was going to mess with an animal that size? The reassuring bulk had meant she’d fallen straight back to sleep, well after the dog had stopped snoring.

  A bit more wriggling and she got custody of her dead legs back, which meant she was jammed in the foetal position in half the bed, and Mabel had the rest. She might as well just admit defeat and get up.

  She flung open the curtains. The thick, grey layer of cloud that had welcomed her to Tippermere yesterday had gone, and the place was awash with a golden winter sunshine that gently lifted and transformed the countryside.

  The chickens were already out and about in their run, pecking busily at the ground, jostling each other in competition for the tastiest worm. They were funny, like a group of busybody old women on market day – gossiping, but with an eye on the others to make sure they didn’t miss the tastiest bargain. Flo smiled and forgot about the pins and needles in her feet.

  ‘Come on lazy bones.’

  Mabel flopped onto her side, taking up even more of the bed. Taking over Daisy’s house and animals was certainly a brilliant distraction. Since she’d got here, Flo realised that she’d only thought about Oli about three times. Which was brilliant progress, considering the normal frequency was about equivalent to the alleged rate that men thought about sex.

  With a sigh she started to look through the drawers for her thickest jumper. Even though the sun was shining, she had a feeling that the temperature probably wasn’t much higher than yesterday.

  Daisy’s instructions on how to look after her pets were like a recipe for making a Michelin starred tasting menu when you’d never cooked before. Very long, with sections that seemed to be in a different language, and a bit jumbled, as she kept thinking of things she’d forgotten. So there were little scribbled asides in the margins, and lots of asterisks an
d arrows pointing down to extra bits added in at the bottom.

  ‘We have to give Barney extra hay before breakfast, and feed the chucks.’ Mabel waggled her eyebrows, unimpressed, and looked pointedly at the washing-up sized bowl. ‘You are next on the list, oh go on I suppose you could jump to the top.’ She skimmed over the ‘Mabel’ bit, wondering if the whole day would collapse into chaos if she didn’t follow it to the letter. ‘But only because it’s easy and out of a bag.’ She would worry about handling the raw meat that was under the ‘Mabel loves for her dinner’ category later. It was worse than feeding a family of five, bang went her idea of vegetating on the sofa eating crisps and drinking wine. If this list was anything to go by, she’d be glad to get home at Christmas.

  With Mabel fed, Flo wandered out into the garden.

  ‘Not feeding them in your pyjamas then?’

  Flo glanced up to find Hugo watching her from the other side of the fence, a broad grin lighting up his open-featured face.

  She blushed scarlet (it was at least scarlet on the heat-ometer, and there was she thinking she needed thicker clothes).

  ‘Those pointy chicken beaks look lethal.’ She eyed up his polo-neck sweater and waxed jacket, which made him look like a model for country wear. ‘And I didn’t think there was any fire risk, unless you’re about to tell me otherwise?’ It wasn’t just the clothes either, he had that confident air of a well-off Englishman (well what she thought one should be like), and the floppy fringe that was a bit Hugh Grant and a bit Brideshead Revisited.

  Her mother had thought she might miss England when they’d first moved out to Spain, and so taken a huge collection of TV series and movies with her. Brideshead Revisited had been one of her favourite programmes, cuddled on the sofa with her mother just before bedtime. And had made a lasting impression.

  The cocky, arrogant boy was obviously more ‘to the manor born’ than she’d realised. She’d just thought he was a stuck-up twat back then.