Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  His face softened and he made an appreciative sigh. “You’re incredible.”

  I shrugged, “you kept your promise so it’s time for me to give something back to you. Have fun with your friend today, tonight even, get drunk if you want, it’s fine, I’ll go to the beach with Arwen.”

  “Yes.” He thrust his fist upwards, a man easy to please. “Perhaps we can all hook up later tonight? Hit a club or something?”

  “Sounds good, I’ll ask Arwen about it.” I continued preparing the bed, which was by far my least favourite household task but then I stopped and slowly turned back to Gabe as my mind went into spasm.

  He was struggling with his own sheets and looked up. “Doc?”

  “Were you…” no surely not. Surely he wasn’t asking about Julia and Arwen and lesbians and last night because he was afraid to leave me alone with Arwen. “Never mind.”

  Because that would mean at least one of us was going paranoid.

  * * *

  Her head jerked forward. “You’ve never had one?”

  “No, gelato’s an Italian thing, or so I thought.” I stood on my tippy toes, straining to catch a better look at the flavours on offer. There were many. Not that I could see from this far back. “Besides, I live in a cold country remember, we’ve not much use for ice cream. You should try Scotland sometime and then you’ll know.”

  “Oh crikey, you try gelato once and there’s no turning back.” Her Australian expressions brought back memories of the long-running soap opera, Neighbours, that I used to watch as a child.

  “Is that a fact?” I stuck my head out beyond a particularly large teenage boy but still couldn’t see the flavours.

  “Well, he certainly seems to think so. If you’re not careful, by the time you leave for home, you’ll look like him.” She held that mischievous grin that somehow possessed no malice and showed her white, perfectly symmetrical teeth.

  I flicked her red braid upwards and it flopped straight back down with a satisfying twang. “Well it hasn’t damaged you, has it.” Or your figure.

  “Ooh, was that a compliment? And do it again, please.” She stuck her head closer and the blonde tumbled down over the front of her face, sending a pleasant cascade of peach washing over me.

  “It was just an observation and stop that.”

  She straightened but the hair was still there, covering her face and then a red tongue poked its way out from between thick blonde tresses.

  I checked over my shoulder, to a middle-aged couple in the queue behind, not impressed. “Arwen, that’s gross.”

  She retracted her tongue then it came out again and then she was flicking it in and out, making perverted noises and I cracked up, tried moving her hair away but she was holding it in place with both hands.

  “Arwen, that’s so inappropriate.” I slapped her lightly on the arm, conscious my hand remained for a little longer than what felt natural. “Coconut!”

  “Huh?” She brushed the hair away to reveal her cheeky face. “Really? That’s a poor choice, don’t you think?”

  I dismissed her with a hand. “Speak to the palm cos the face ain’t listening.”

  She made a loud barking noise then bumped me with her hip, which sent me sidewards out of the queue.

  I dashed back to her side. “Ok, so what is a good flavour then?”

  She pointed to the display, which was slowly coming into view. “Well just look. You have Kinder Surprise, Oreo, Tiramisu, whatever that multicoloured thing is, all these exotic flavours and you go for boring old coconut?” She hummed and nodded. “On second thoughts, maybe something like vanilla would be more your thing.”

  I gaped and stepped closer. “Are you calling me boring?”

  “Oh no, absolutely not, I mean, you did wade into the Gardon river. That’s pretty hardcore.” She was absolutely straight-faced but had to have been taking the piss with that one, it was never easy to tell. “And you did eat a snail.” She gave me a thumbs up and winked.

  “Right, now I know you’re taking the piss and you’ve been doing that a lot, haven’t you.” My flip flop was touching hers and I reached out to pinch her forearm, she didn’t move. “I’ll have you know, I also ate cow brain and spontaneously drove the camper into a valley, not to mention…” I was about to say I’d also spent over three minutes passionately making out with her, which could be considered wild by anybody’s standards, but managed to stop myself from venturing into complete inappropriateness at the last second, we were in the middle of a queue, after all, “…snail, I ate snail.”

  “You’re right, Vanilla, you’re pretty extreme.”

  My mouth plunged open again and this time she reached forwards with her finger to tickle my tongue and I closed my mouth in an exaggerated way. “Om nom nom. I’ll eat your finger and you’d better not start calling me that.”

  “One vanilla?” The man behind the counter asked and we both cracked up in hysterics.

  She stuck her palm out to silence me then fired off something in Spanish.

  Immediately, I stopped laughing to scrutinise her and felt something stir right down below as I muttered something in baby language but wasn’t sure what.

  “Freya?”

  “Huh?”

  “What flavour?”

  * * *

  We dawdled along the Passeig Marítim de la Barceloneta, the wide open walkway that skirted the sand. The beach was crowded and we pottered along the path in search of a more peaceful spot, which was probably unlikely to come into view for a while; it was early afternoon on a beautiful day and this was, after all, Barcelona, one of Europe’s great cities. One would expect most tourist beaches this close to such a large city to be ruined with litter, beer bottles and all kinds of filth but from where we were, all appeared reasonably clean. Of course, actually walking on the sand might reveal different.

  The gelato was everything Arwen had made it out to be. Feeling somewhat flustered, I’d made a hasty choice, going for a cup half filled with mint choc chip and half Starburst. I got real lucky.

  “You have to try some of this pistachio.” She said as we dallied past a pair of stray dogs.

  I was about to say it was too late because the vendor was way behind us but I looked up to find her spoon already hovering near my lips. “Oh, um, ok.” And in it went.

  “Well?”

  I closed my eyes and made a hum that sounded more sexual than intended.

  She gently nudged me in the side. “And you were gonna go for vanilla?”

  “No, I was gonna go for coconut.” I nudged her back. “You really believe me to be vanilla, don’t you? Well, perhaps I’ll show you yet.” And in the moment, I regretted not having a nickname for her.

  But it wasn’t lost on me that I was doing that exact thing to Arwen that I’d experienced several guys from my course attempt when they were trying to impress me. Well, perhaps I’ll show you yet - Just like the time I told her I was training to be a doctor.

  There was that guy, Oli Taylor who’d casually dropped into conversation that he’d just broken the javelin throwing record for the entire University of Edinburgh. Then there was John ‘Briggsy’ Collins-Briggs, who’d shamelessly let slip he’d achieved the highest microbiology grades of our entire year group. As it transpired, they’d both had crushes on me, Gabe had discovered that when they got drunk and told him. Extreme examples perhaps and thankfully, I hadn’t yet resorted to blathering on at Arwen about my future as an emergency medical doctor and would strangle myself long before doing so. I simply wouldn’t do it!

  “Try some Starburst.” I held out my spoon and without hesitation, her mouth enclosed around it.

  She purred and licked her top lip. “Hmmm, that’s really good.”

  A group of roller skaters were gliding in our direction and Arwen thread her hand inside the crook of my elbow to gently guide me out of their path but one of them noticed the Australian, his head fixing on her as he flew by and barging into his companion as he did. They both lurched forwards, arms
swinging for balance and only managing to save themselves from a major accident due to some pretty good corrective skating. Angry Spanish was shouted and on they continued.

  I covered my mouth with a trembling hand. “Arwen, how do you not cause more accidents?”

  She barely flinched, probably used to causing pile ups. “What? They were drooling at you.”

  “Pah,” I gestured to my friend’s, well, everything, in that flowing yellow dress she was wearing. “Yeah, right.”

  Her face remained fixed and serious. “Frey, they were looking at you, at least Clumsy was, right before nearly killing himself and everyone else.”

  I gently shoved her on the shoulder. “You’re taking the piss again.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. That’s what the other pervert shouted, ‘there’s a redhead at the brothel, why don’t you just get it out your system.’”

  “Huh.” I stepped back, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted. “Huh.”

  She closed the distance and her hand was on my arm. “You don’t see it, do you. Awe,” her expression softened, “you’re a good looking girl, why wouldn’t they notice you?”

  “Because I’m standing next to you.” I persisted.

  “And I’m standing next to you.” She persevered as I jerked upright and felt my pale face flushing, unsure what to say. She nodded up the path. “Come on.”

  And we continued for several minutes at the same dawdling pace, eating the goodness and making strange unconscious sounds as the sun demonstrated its power, joggers bounded past and tourists loitered everywhere.

  It was something worth considering, that this dour Scot did not make friends easily, I was my father’s daughter for sure, and often could be my own worst enemy, I’d proven that recently. I required time to feel comfortable around new people and even then I seldom opened up much. But there was something about Arwen that was beginning to bring a little something different out in me. She was playful, adorably immature, impossibly relaxed and in turn, soothing to be around, almost like a natural antidote to my stresses. I’d known some extremely high strung women, not for lack of reason in medical school, but short of a cross-country journey by car with Dan at the wheel, it was hard to imagine anything flustering this Australian girl. Even her walk was tranquillising, the way she leaned back, chin tilted up, arms barely swinging and just being around her, alone, had such positive transmitting effects on my mood. Near misses with roller skaters aside, just so long as she gave me no more, um, unfinished massages, which only produced the exact opposite effect, then I was unlikely to burst from an unsatisfied frustrating internal thrumming.

  No, I really liked her. In fact, I could not remember a time I’d made friends with anyone so easily. Of course, the forced proximity was a major factor but had it been any other girl, I could not imagine feeling so comfortable strolling down the Passeig Marítim de la Barceloneta, eating gelato with them right now, especially after last night.

  “You’ve gone into deep thought.” She pointed to an empty spot on the beach and we turned off the path to walk across the sand. “What are you thinking?”

  I felt the satisfying shift of sand beneath my feet. “I was just wondering if your travels have made it as far as Scotland yet?”

  She turned inwards and tucked a thick cluster of blonde behind her ear. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll look you up when I get there.”

  “Maybe you should.” And I thought about all the places I could take her; Edinburgh Castle, the Isle of Skye, a whisky distillery, my dad’s cabin on Loch Ness, even that thing on the Falkirk canal that lifts boats up and places them on the aqueduct above.

  “Here’s our spot.” And I was brought back from my reverie by her hand pulling me down to the sand.

  “Ah,” I shook it away and knelt, surveying the vicinity. There were throngs of people along the entire stretch of beach, as expected, but at least here the groups were sparser, bringing a small feeling of privacy. There were hundreds of men, women and children all around us, lying on towels, some beneath giant umbrellas. From close, the waves surged across sand and children chased each other in the shallows. A volleyball game brought the occasional shout and the light patter of palms on beachball every few seconds and a man was striding along the beach, carrying a cooler and shouting, “Coca-Cola, beer … Coca-Cola, beer.”

  I turned away, allowed the hair to fall over my face and coughed lightly as I delved into my bag for the towel, laying it purposefully over the sand, aware she was doing the same close by. “It’s hot, isn’t it.” I rolled my eyes at my self-consciousness. “Oh, my poor Scottish skin. I’m not designed for this heat.” I gathered myself, checked my back was still to her then lifted my dress over my head and continued to stare into the sand as I carefully folded the garment and then cancelled that out by stuffing it inside my bag. Now, in only a bikini and aware of my sudden discomfort, I delved for the factor 60, pulled it out and began applying it to my pale face, arms, sternum, belly and thighs.

  “Here.”

  “Huh?”

  But there was no time to be alarmed and I made a small jolt as, without warning, her hands were on my shoulders and I felt the delicious chill in contrast to the sun as she began working the lotion into my skin, moving in soft circles, up and down, side to side. She removed her hands and there was another squirt from the bottle, the sound of two palms rubbing together and then they were back on my waist and lower back before finishing in that little indent just above the point where the lower back meets the buttocks.

  “Done. You can do me in a minute.”

  “Um, yeah, sure.”

  When I turned back, she was leaning over her bag shuffling things around, a copy of Women’s Health magazine was strewn close by and a punnet of strawberries rested on the sand between our towels.

  “Go ahead and help yourself.” She said, like she had eyes in the back of her head. “I brought cherries too if I can find them.”

  I selected a strawberry and tasted the sunscreen on my fingers.

  So casual and carefree, the act of applying sunscreen to a friend was nothing to her. She was Australian, all things considered, a country known for its low skin cancer rates and everybody else was supposed to follow their example.

  I heard the zip and she returned, plonked down the cherries, grabbed the hems of her dress and I held my breath and angled away as she tugged it over her head. There was a wave of blonde in the corner of my eye and I went for another strawberry, keeping a hold of the stalk as I purposefully sucked out the juice. Something landed in my lap and I glanced down to find a bottle of factor 15.

  “Oh, right.” I flicked off the cap and squirted a large dollop into my palm.

  She’d turned her back to face me and was presently using the contents from another bottle to rub over her arms. “Take as many cherries as you want. Aren’t they just the best?”

  I brought my hands down over the backs of her shoulders and felt a twitch from the feminine musculature below. “Strawberries, cherries, it’s a hard choice.” I moved my hands around those two blades, her scapulae, that protruded and oscillated beneath my fingers from the motions of her own hands as they smeared lotion into her skin.

  “I’m used to the sun, in case you were wondering, which is why, despite being blonde, factor 15 is enough for me. Oh, look at that cute dog. Though I reckon it’d probably kill you, right?”

  “What, the dog?”

  Her head swivelled around and she made a humorous scowl. “No, factor 15.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course.” I rolled my eyes, squeezed more lotion onto my palm and began slowly working my way down her back, pulling back the red bra strap to get beneath. “So, Arwen, you speak Spanish too?”

  She made long strokes as she worked over her legs. “Yeah but my French is way better than my Spanish. My Spanish is almost non-existent, considering I’ve been working on it almost a year.”

  Christ. “You could have foo
led me.”

  “Meh.” She leaned forward to get to her toes, the conversation making the task feel much less tense for me, she had that ability. “The thing is, we Australians suffer the same problems as you Brits when it comes to languages … oh damn, sand…” she made a few sweeping motions with her fingers against her leg and even futilely tried blowing it, “hate that … never get it off me now. Anyway, it’s not easy for us but it’s great being able to practice at source. You finished?”

  “Almost.” I finished up around her lower back and where her hips broadened out almost insanely into that hourglass figure she possessed, which I thought was one of her best features. “Done.”

  She manoeuvred around to sit level with me and then, for a flicker, her boobs were under my nose before she managed to block them with her head as she leaned down to grab a handful of strawberries and then straightening at an angle to cram three in her mouth at once, stalks and all. With impossible flexibility, she reached up behind her back, finding the clasp of her bikini and undoing it. “Ah, the relief of release.” She pulled her arms out and flung the garment atop her bag before positioning herself faced down on the towel and groaning. “Damn it, you get all comfortable and then realise you forgot your stupid book.”

  Like I said, the girl’s lack of apprehension was infectious and, leaving my bikini top in place, I positioned myself faced down beside her.

  * * *

  We stirred around forty-five minutes later when…

  “Coca-Cola, beer … Coca-Cola, beer.”

  “Shit! My bra, quickly.”

  I sensed her rise and when I sat up she’d already attached the thing and was busy thrashing her arm about like a madwoman.

  “Over here,” she yelled. “You want one Frey?”

  I pushed myself up and blew sand off my lips. “Oh, um, yes if you’re offering.”

  Her golden skin was glistening with a combination of lotion, sweat and sun. “Yes, I am off … Yes, over here.”