by Sally Bryan
His hands slipped down my body as he gripped and experienced my curves before pressing his lips into mine. Our breathing increased in volume as our tongues clashed and he pulled me hard into his crotch and rubbed, his other hand sliding up to clutch my breast, which felt full in his grasp. We hummed in unison, his tongue explored my mouth as I felt him growing further down. He groaned, I groaned a different pitch, his tongue delved deeper, mine remained steady, his eyes were closed, mine opened.
He pulled away, fire in his eyes, “I’m locking the door. Fuck anyone else.” He took a stride but I pulled him back.
“Gabe, we can’t do that. What if someone has a key?”
His nostrils flared in the direction of the door. “Then I’ll use the bed to block the entrance, the wardrobe, Dan’s crap to add extra weight.” He growled and bounded over to the large bunk bed against the adjacent wall, giving it a tug, it barely moving, heaving again with an added grunt, his shirt coming untucked from the back of his cargo shorts.
I sighed, “Gabe, Gabe, we can’t, we really can’t. I’m sorry. Someone might come in or knock and complain and I don’t want to get kicked out of this lovely hostel.”
He gestured out the window. “Kicked out? Good! We have a camper.”
“And what about Dan if he’s in the shower? He’ll be waiting in the corridor wearing only a towel.”
“Good, he’ll understand, in fact, he’d probably encourage it.”
I spoke in a soothing tone. “I’m sorry, Gabe, we’ll get our own room in Barcelona. Either that or we will spend a night or two in the camper, I promise.” I took some ibuprofen with a gulp of water and gave him another apologetic glance. “Are you heading out to explore this wonderful place?”
His shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply, surveying the three inches of movement that were the fruits of his exertion. “You bloody well go ahead.”
I swallowed, “ok.”
* * *
The minute you step out the hostel, you’re transported to another world, a place of cobblers, blacksmiths, all kinds of tiny specialist shops, of narrow streets with stone arches converging into small squares, cobbled ground, of timber framed buildings where the upper floors overhang the lower, of every window with a wooden shutter, their ledges filled with flowers, of streets so clean you could almost eat from them, except I wouldn’t recommend that last one, a labyrinth where you actually wanted to lose yourself and in the air, always, a sense you were treading in history and not once would you see a motor vehicle.
All this before you even make it to the walls.
There were two, an inner and outer and I strolled on the grass between them, craning my neck to view the tops, the spires and towers. The outer wall descended into the moat, was a solid bastion with steep steps at strategic points giving access to the summit whilst the inner wall possessed numerous archways leading into the town.
I pulled out my phone and took photo after photo, knowing the images would never do the place justice.
Ahead, Arwen was crouching in an archway, facing up and pointing what appeared to be an expensive camera, an actual real one, at something of fascination. She’d changed into a loose flowery dress, the most modest thing I’d yet seen her wear and I had to squint, slowing my approach to check that it was really her. But there was no confusing her long blonde hair and those three coloured braids with any other girl and even from this distance, her athletic figure was just as conspicuous.
And knowing it was her, I halted, paused and turned around to go back. She hadn’t seen me, no harm done, I could have a pleasant evening in Carcassonne without the drama. I stepped once, twice and then for whatever reason stopped, scuffing my flip flop on the grass.
“Bugger it.” Maybe it wouldn’t be totally unpleasant to exchange a few words with the girl.
“Hi,” she said, standing and brushing a long twist of blonde from her eyes, “isn’t this the most magical place?” On one wrist she wore a band of wooden beads whilst on the other was a stylish looking red leather bracelet that I assumed to be the source of the pleasant scent around her, of what reminded me of Aloe Vera. She also wore another on her left ankle, a blue one, which I guessed meant they were probably to repel mosquitoes. The total cost of her accessories was probably somewhere in the region of zero, whilst still looking totally cool.
I nodded, “you seemed enchanted by something there. Care to share?”
She backed up to the wall and invited me forwards to peek through the archway, the other end revealing a stone wall and not a lot else. She anticipated my confusion. “It’s the intricate patterns in the stones, the way they all fit together so snugly, each piece is a different size and shape. I just find it fascinating and beautiful. To me, this is art.” Even though she spoke in a low voice, it came out amplified with the faintest echo.
I turned back and our shoulders brushed, “sorry, yes, it’s beautiful,” I stepped away, back onto the grass, “the small details, things you don’t normally consider, or appreciate.”
“The beauty is always in the small details and I find you have to take a closer look to appreciate them fully.” She spoke with complete seriousness and it was bad of me to think such profundity sounded weird coming from her.
And why was that? Was it because she was blonde with a small, innocent face? Was it because she was around my age and it isn’t considered cool to speak in such ways? Or was it because our first encounter had been such a horrific car crash? I had to be honest with myself because up to this point, I’d been wrong about Arwen at every single juncture.
She gestured to the path and we set off at a sauntering pace. The outer wall blocked the sun, which cast much of the walkway in shadow where ahead, it curved out of sight and I assumed it would be possible to circle the entire town if we wanted. I fidgeted with my blouse cuff that cut off at the elbow and then nodded to a middle-aged Chinese couple, who ignored me.
“So, how’re your shoulders?” She asked, louder than before as her body angled slightly into me.
I made a small, embarrassing bark, “you don’t give up, do you?” I shook it away. “Anyway, how come you know how to change a flat?” It sounded patronising, even to myself. “Oh, I didn’t mean…ugh…”
She laughed and shook her head. “All I did was change a flat tyre. It’s not like I cured cancer, fed the world or disabled all nuclear weapons, you know.”
I could feel my muscles relaxing and assumed it had something to do with her not feeling anywhere near as tense as I did, “yeah but still…” and I had reason to be agitated. I’d been mean to Arwen and she’d returned only warmth when she had every right to give back what she got, told us to fuck off, find new friends and alternative means of travel.
“I’m sure your boyfriend had it taken care of, I just didn’t give him much of a chance to prove it, did I.” She sounded almost apologetic.
I gave her a knowing look and smirked, wondering if she was taking the piss but I couldn’t tell. “You’re too kind. No, give him a few years and he’ll save your life if you happen to overdose on opioids or get ploughed down by a bus but as for anything practical…” I left the rest unsaid, knowing that poor Gabe, for all his capabilities, would struggle to change a light bulb - Not that it was his fault and not that I was much better. When you spend your life studying human anatomy, other things tend to get neglected, which kind of explained why the simple act of witnessing a young girl saving our arses was so impressive to me.
“You love him very much, don’t you.” She said as a matter of fact. “How long have you been together?”
“Five years,” I stated. “Five years. He’s a great guy. One of the best. Ah,” I pointed to some steps that appeared in the outer wall, “let’s go to the top.”
She glanced across at me then led the way up, grabbing ahold of the rail and stepping carefully because the ascent was steep and we were both wearing flip flops. Her dress cut off at the knees, revealing calves that popped in a way that mine didn’t.
The
reward atop was a spectacular view over the earthworks, moat, river, new city and surrounding countryside and in acknowledgement I gasped something incomprehensible before enjoying the next few minutes in respectful silence, leaning against the parapet and gazing out in awe, occasionally turning around for a view over the old town.
It was a mystery how such places could be built during times of supposed lesser enlightenment, before the advent of modern machinery and medicine and it was hard not to make comparisons with modern structures, towns and developments. Were we even capable of creating such beauty anymore? The future was coming but were we really going forwards?
I pulled out my phone, “how about you,” and checked the home screen for alerts, “is there anything going on between you and Dan?” I glared into the screen, nothing new since last check.
“Dan?” One side of her mouth quickly raised. “He’s a fun guy, I like him, but only as a mate. Oh, God,” she giggled harder now, after having apparently given the scenario some thought, “no, no, no, that wouldn’t work. We’re travelling buddies and that’s all it’ll ever be.”
My feet shuffled, scratching the stone. “To be honest, I couldn’t picture the two of you together.” It would have been too much of a mismatch, for sure. “So, no boyfriend on the road? Or back home?” I checked my home screen again, still no alerts.
“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head, “free as a bird, which is how I’m able to travel for as long as I like and not answer to anyone.”
I brushed the hair away from my face. “I expect it’d be a problem, you know, being away from home so long, with your relationship, if you were in one, which you aren’t, not that I even know how long you’ve been away. How long have you been away … travelling?”
She smiled and briefly broke eye contact as her eyes snapped upwards. “About six months, not as long as Dan. He’s been everywhere and knows a thing or two about travelling on a zero budget. I know it might not seem like it sometimes but he can improvise when he wants, you’d be surprised. I just think that now he doesn’t need to use his head so much because he has you and Gabe to do all that for him, he’s happy to sit back and let someone else drive and plan and think for a change … pay, even?” She shook her head and grinned. “I’ve seen him arrive at a hostel and within minutes there’s a group of nine or ten of us all heading to the pub. People like that are very rare. Yep, he’s the guy you see when all you want is a bit of fun. Oh, hey…” and she made a swift half spin, grabbing my wrist, “the things I said about him last night, the mean things, I shouldn’t have said them, not really, I mean, I was still quite angry with him so they don’t count.”
“Hah, that was you being mean?”
It was a true friendship then. She wasn’t using him, as I’d previously and judgementally thought. And I could tell from the light in her eyes, the warmth in her voice and the animation of her face that she genuinely liked the guy and enjoyed his company. Of course, Dan obviously wanted more, he was a bloke, after all, and Arwen looked like the heroine from an anime series. But that didn’t mean it would happen and he’d be far from the first guy to have been placed firmly in the friend zone.
Not for the first time, I felt ashamed about my rush to judge Arwen.
But I’d learned my lesson.
“I’m glad you’re here with us,” I said without thinking, feeling immediately silly but she showed no sign of being startled or unsettled.
“I’m glad to be with you.” She said in the kind of laid back Oz way I was beginning to find refreshing and likeable.
And although, I realised, I knew next to nothing about her, it’d be fun having Arwen knocking about, if only until Barcelona. A feminine counterbalance to the overwhelming levels of testosterone in that camper would not be unwelcome.
The sun now resembled a glowing slither that further sank and diminished beyond the horizon.
“Selfie?” I asked with raised eyebrows and without hesitation, we positioned our backs to the parapet and as I brought up my phone, I felt her hand slip across my lower back. I did the same.
I tapped the screen, an instant was all it took but it would be there forever.
* * *
Dan stood and used the back of his seat for balance as he stretched out his quads. “Ok, ok, I’ll take a hit for the team.” He retook his seat, flexed his fingers then held a napkin, using it to hold the shell, escargot, and breathing deeply, “can you believe it even comes with its own fork?”
Arwen slapped the table. “You can do it.”
Gabe patted him on the arm. “I have faith in you.”
“Ok, I just need a sec…” he made panting sounds and plunged the fork in, twisting and extracting the snail. “Fuck, fuck!”
“Now, dip it in here.” Arwen pushed the garlic butter sauce closer.
He submerged the delicacy then brought it towards his grimacing face, “ok, team, here goes,” and closed his mouth around the snail.
“No, no, you have to chew it.” I declared, my belly hurting from so much laughter.
“I am chewing. Oh, Christ, I’m really eating a snail.”
Gabe was filming the whole event on his phone. “Down the hatch, buddy.”
His Adam’s apple bounced, he winced and the wine was quick to follow. “Actually, that wasn’t too bad.”
“Then you’ll want another, right?” Arwen teased, gesturing to the remaining snails.
“Balls to that and I don’t know why you’re laughing, Frey-Frey, you’re up next.” He shoved them closer to me and sat back, arms folded in satisfaction.
In these types of situations, I find the ripping of the band-aid approach to be best and so I plucked up a snail, removed it from the shell, dipped in it the sauce and sent it home all within a matter of seconds.
Oh, bloody hell, but I was actually eating a snail, chewing the thing, and then everybody was slapping the table in raucous laughter and nearby diners were staring and all I could think was how much it reminded me of the moules-frites from our first night in France, which wasn’t bad at all. “Wine.” I croaked, grasping for my glass and pouring a large quantity down my gullet. “Ugh, I’m so happy that’s over and you’re up next Arwen,” I pointed an index finger and made a clicking sound.
Dan looked at me then back to her with a questioning expression before silently mouthing, “Arwen?”
I burst out in laughter but the mood was so great this night that I just couldn’t embarrass the guy by announcing he’d had her name wrong for so many weeks and thankfully, Gabe hadn’t connected the dots and then I watched enthralled as she picked up the snail, removed it from the shell before sending it between her wide, thin lips and holding a hand over her mouth to conceal the discomfort she must surely be undergoing.
“I think she’s more used to barbecued shrimp.” Dan declared and when she swallowed, he pulled her in with an arm and kissed her on the cheek.
Gabe raised his glass. “To the girl who saved our arses, without whom we’d still be walking here.”
Arwen flexed an impressive bicep, “just let me know when you need your oil changing.”
“Awe, poor Gabe.” I gave him a sympathetic hug as his cheeks reddened.
We were in a small, very beautiful square lit by gas lampposts and candles, surrounded by flowers flowing from hanging baskets, where the tables from the surrounding restaurants merged into the next and I wondered for how many hundreds of years people had sat and eaten and laughed and cried in this exact same spot. Certainly, there was an ethereal, almost unworldly feel about the entire town, the old part at least, which had only been exacerbated by the onset of night. It was just something you felt down your spine, that same Christmas morning tingle you remember from being a kid, or the first day of summer, or the last day of school, a feeling you experience only a few times in your life and it made you feel alive. The doctor in me logically attributed it to the dopamine being produced from a combination of Carcassonne’s magic, alcohol, good food and present company. I doubted I was the only one w
ho was feeling it, which only added to the mystique because it appeared to be something we were sharing as a group, at least tonight, where everybody got along and everything just seemed to click. Even Dan was acting pleasant and had not, thus far, caused offence.
The waiter arrived with the sea urchins, oursins, which resembled small spiked balls cut through the middle to reveal the orange goo within, a supposed delicacy here in the south.
“We’re gonna need more wine,” Arwen announced before speaking to the waiter in French, impressing everyone.
“Oui, madame.”
“And don’t have a heart attack, Gabe, it’s on me.”
He winked, “we need wine so I won’t say no.”
There were eight halves, two each, and it was Gabe’s turn to go first.
He removed his glasses and squeezed at the flesh above his nose. “And I have to do this twice?” Come to think of it, he looked a tad paler than normal.
Dan slapped him on the back. “It can’t be worse than all that haggis your missus force feeds you.”
“Hey, Gabe loves my haggis.”
“And can you believe they even have a special spoon just for these little things?” He picked it up and dipped it into the yolky substance with bits of red and black floating in it, scooped it out and closed his eyes as it went down, swallowing in one.
Arwen was leaning forward, her little face alive. “Doesn’t that just glide right down there?”
Gabe opened his eyes and breathed, “actually, it’s kind of creamy, not unlike oysters, not too bad. I’ve certainly had worse in a Scottish greasy spoon.”
And then came the pigeon, frogs legs and finally, just in case we hadn’t already been sufficiently open-minded, or drunk, enough this evening, the tête de veau, which for the lesser informed, was boiled cow brain. This final bright idea had been one of Dan’s, which by the rules of the game meant we all had to choke it down before he did. It looked exactly as expected, with a leaf or two of lettuce for garnish. Dan blanched as he took his knife and began slicing the monstrosity into four equal pieces.