Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  I plonked my drink down, “guys, I’m not much fun tonight so I think I’m just gonna head off back to the hostel. It was nice bumping into you, maybe I’ll see you all at breakfast.”

  Karla stood at the same time. “Oh, well, we’ll walk back with you. We were about to head back anyway, weren’t we Sambo?”

  It was news to him but he stood and politely nodded and so the three of us left the club and as we approached the booth where Arwen had been, my entire world descended into slow motion as I prepared to witness the appalling scene that I was only just beginning to realise would hurt so much. What would I see? The back of Floor’s head and a glinting tiara as she invaded my friend’s mouth with her tongue, her hands hungrily roaming her body. But as we passed it was some other couple, a heterosexual one, of all things, who couldn’t take their hands off each other. It was both a relief and an aggravation. A relief because I wouldn’t have to see it, an aggravation because, well, where the fuck was she and what was she doing?

  “If you see what looks like coordinates on any of these buildings then shout me at once.”

  “Hey, Piston, the poor girl doesn’t give a crap about geocaching or helping you find your idiotic little box that’s probably buried somewhere deep in a pile of cow shit.” Samuel pinched her on the arse and she slapped him across the back.

  “Oh no, guys, really, it’s fascinating.” It was a fifteen-minute walk to the hostel, which suddenly seemed like a long time to endure.

  “See! And really?” Karla persisted, “you should come with me then.”

  “Oi, she’s just arrived in Barcelona, why the fuck would she go geocaching with you when she could go to the beach, the casino or any of a hundred bars?” He playfully put her in a headlock. “Volunteering at an old people’s home would be more entertaining.”

  She used her tiny frame to shove him off and playfully lashed out with a brown leather boot, precisely the type of relationship that was destined to last forever. “You insensitive prick. I was trying to offer her company after her friend abandoned her.” And they’d seemed so nice before. She stamped away from him and began staggering beside me. “I know it’s a cliche but there’s many other fishes in the sea. Did I say that right? Anyway, you’ll find another one.”

  I was quick to interject on that line. “Oh, no, we’re not…”

  “Is that the fucking coordinates?” She screeched in her Canadian twang, almost swiping me across the face as she pointed up at a building.

  Samuel burst into laughter. “It’s the phone number for a chiropractor.”

  And I conceded that if I didn’t find that funny then something was definitely up.

  I hugged them both goodnight and braced myself before opening the door to my, our, dorm but as expected, nobody else was home. I sat on the bed and spent a few minutes staring blankly at the wall whilst sipping a glass of water I’d brought up for the night.

  It’d been a forlorn hope but a hope nonetheless, that maybe Arwen would have been waiting or even meditating and would have been annoyed that I’d disturbed her and we’d hug and say sorry and I’d probably cry and she’d see it and we’d talk into the small hours and I’d be vulnerable and possibly say something that might change my life forever.

  But no.

  Because she was with that other one. Probably in a hotel room where they’d have privacy.

  I missed her. I was pathetic.

  There was supposed to have been four of us in this room tonight but now, at three in the morning, I was the only one here. And I’d never felt so alone.

  I brushed my teeth, removed my lenses, changed into a pair of shorts and t-shirt, switched the light off and settled into bed.

  The traffic from outside was loud but I wanted the window open. I unlocked my phone, the light causing me to squint as it partially illuminated the room, I breathed and scanned through my photos, selecting the image of Arwen and me on the wall in Carcassonne.

  “So beautiful.”

  I groaned and my belly stirred.

  I opened Youtube and typed in ‘Tiny Biggz,’ selected the song titled, ‘You Want Ma Money?’ and squirmed as the video started.

  The music was not my usual thing but for hip-hop, it wasn’t all that bad and one could only be impressed by the production and scale. It took place at night, in the penthouse suite of a skyscraper as the bright lights of what had to be New York dazzled the viewer. The party was ongoing as the helicopter landed and as all the revellers stopped in awe, out strutted Tiny Biggz, sunglasses donned, despite it being dark, arm in arm with two girls. The breath caught in my throat as the image flashed over Arwen, dressed elegantly like she was going to the theatre. It was the first time I’d seen her without braids as she strode into the penthouse beside Tiny, who delved into his jacket pocket, pulled out a wad of dollars and began throwing them into the air. It cut to a closeup of his gold teeth, someone handed him a cane with a diamond in its handle, he pointed it at the two girls and for his amusement, they began sexy dancing with each other. A leather armchair was pulled up and Tiny reclined back as someone out of shot handed him a cocktail. Throughout the penthouse, a hundred girls were dancing but the camera focused on Arwen and the other girl, exotic looking, possibly Brazilian, as they pressed and rubbed against each other. Arwen leaned forward, exposing her abundant cleavage and I paused the video.

  My breathing was loud in the quiet room and, holding the phone in my left hand, I slid the right down my body, over my belly, pubis and, spreading my legs a little wider, found my moist opening and bucked as my fingers glanced over my outer walls. I concentrated on my clitoris, pressing harder, breathing deeper, my eyes feasting on Arwen’s face, neck, breasts but the girl on the screen was not the Arwen I knew and so I dropped the phone to my pillow, closed my eyes and imagined the Arwen beside the campfire, just us, nobody else, as we kissed and embraced in that special place, our Catalonian valley and the wind rustled the leaves on the trees and her hands were on my breasts and she was pleading for me to touch her, to touch her somewhere intimate and I brought my hand up beneath her dress and began to massage her folds and she sighed softly as our lips could not bring themselves to part. Suddenly I was again in Barcelona and my back arched from the bed as my arm tensed and I could feel the explosion building from deep within, that same suppressed explosion that had been humming inside of me since Catalonia, since she first laid her hands on my back, since we shared that incredible kiss. My breathing intensified and there was mumbling from somewhere close and I heard the beep from the keycard and I wrenched my hand back, turned off the light from my phone and laid still.

  The door creaked open and there in the threshold, enveloped in orange light from the hallway, stood Arwen.

  My heart soared and thudded and screamed all at once. Who was she with? That awful girl? I couldn’t watch but neither could I close my eyes, even though the strong light hurt.

  She stepped inside, paused. “Frey?” She used her foot to close the door but left a tiny crack to enable her to see. “Are you there?” She was alone, most definitely alone and I felt a rare euphoria surge through my body.

  “Arwen,” I whispered.

  “Ah, there you are. I was searching everywhere for you. You had me very worried.”

  I let out a silent whimper. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too, Vanilla, I’m very sorry.”

  My pillowcase had dampened with tears. “Arwen?”

  “I won’t turn the light on. I think we need to talk.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Together, Arwen and I came down for breakfast as the usual heads turned to scope out the Australian dancer. Samuel, one head among a crowd of travellers, waved at us from a table his group were occupying by the window but it was the scowl from hell, bestowed upon me by Floor that felt awesome this morning. I was perhaps rightly beginning to suspect my name might have been raised during their private conversation of the night before and what I wouldn
’t give to have a transcript.

  “Looking good,” Samuel declared to Arwen, who’d come straight from the bedroom in her dressing gown. I loved the way she didn’t give a damn and still looked better than anybody else in the building and beyond. The hair on one side of her face was a disordered mess but other than that she looked perfect.

  We approached the buffet and required three trips to bring back toast, cereal, muffins, ham, cheese, coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice. When we finally took our seats, Floor shuffled away from us, just enough to be noticed and in response, Luuk, who doubtless thought she was shuffling towards him, casually propped an arm over her shoulder.

  “Damn shame there’s no bacon, sausages, hash browns, baked beans, mushrooms,” Arwen remarked as she scraped butter into her toast. “Heck, I could even go for some of that black pudding rubbish you Brits eat.”

  My smile lifted even further at being addressed out of everyone and Floor’s top lip pulled back to reveal her teeth, bright, shiny and menacing. But there was something more than threatening, unsettling even, behind Floor’s eyes as she continued to bodily ignore the two of us. Not that I cared right now. She’d forgone the tiara this morning and her hair was kept in a ponytail of long black that draped over one shoulder to rest at her midriff.

  Samuel leaned forward and pointed his fork at Arwen. “You know, it sounds like the two of you would seriously enjoy coming along with us on the Camino.”

  Karla, mouth full of food, made a strange noise and sprang forward beyond her boyfriend and from where I was sitting it looked like her head was sprouting out from his shoulder. “Yes, you have to come and do the Camino with us. We’ll be wild camping every night and using a stove to cook bacon and sausages and all that good stuff you just said.”

  “Easy girl, easy.” Samuel restrained her with the back of his arm then looked back to Arwen. “She gets keen, that is, until she gets bored, as you’ve probably noticed with her present hobby, searching sand dunes and people’s gardens for small boxes filled with shit. But the offer’s there if you fancy it.”

  Arwen put down her toast. “The Camino? I must admit, it’s always been on the list.” She rubbed her chin as my body made a swift involuntary jerk towards her. “Hmm,” was she actually considering leaving us? “No.” She finally shook her head. “We just arrived here and have barely even scratched Barcelona’s shiny surface. There’s just too much I want to see here first.”

  Karla flopped back and Samuel held out his palms. “Well like I said, the offer’s there. We’re not likely to leave Barca for a couple of days yet and we’ll be on foot, so even if you change your mind you could probably catch us up. All you’ll need is a cheap tent and ready supply of bacon, eggs, sausages and all that other stuff.”

  The Camino de Santiago was a religious pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint James at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, North Western Spain. Technically speaking, the pilgrimage could begin anywhere but the route from Barcelona was an emerging one with tourists and took you through a number of interesting spots. Ultimately, it would involve a lot of walking, from here, about seven hundred miles of it, but added to that there’d be good food, camping, interesting sites, friendship and quite possibly an experience never to forget. The problem for me was that knowing Gabe and his aversion to all things religious, he would most certainly be against the idea, even if it was treated simply as a long walk through the centre of Spain and I had an inkling Dan wouldn’t be too keen either. Arwen, on the other hand? All I knew was that it was a great relief when she turned them down.

  But I felt the strong need to reinforce Arwen’s refusal. “Besides, it’s kind of in the opposite direction to where we’re most likely heading next. We were thinking down the coast; Valencia, Granada, possibly Madrid.”

  “Madrid’s straight west.” Floor mumbled testily into her coffee.

  “Yes, you’re correct, Floor.” I smiled at her, intentionally pronouncing her name as that thing we walk on rather than how the others were saying it, Floo-er.

  Luuk leaned over and spoke with a surprisingly effeminate voice for someone so tall with dreadlocks. “To where you’re most likely heading next? You don’t have a rough idea?”

  Arwen tipped a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and then gestured to me with the implement. “Well there’s more than just the two of us to consider, that is if we’re sticking together after Barca but we’re travelling with two other guys you’ve not met.”

  Floor now turned back to a more central position and although she was filling her mouth with cornflakes, it was easy to see she was scrutinising the details.

  Samuel shrugged and looked over his shoulder. “Really? Bring them down. Where are they?”

  I coughed into a napkin and, patting me on the back, Arwen answered in my stead. “Well, Dan and Freya’s boyfriend are kind of in jail right now.”

  There were confused blinks and scratches of heads all around, Floor in particular perked up, a dozen questions all at once forming in her mind.

  I cut her off. “Oh, Arwen, they’re not in jail.” I glanced back to the others. “No, they’re in a police holding cell and are due back any moment.” Where were they?

  “But you have a boyfriend?” Floor predictably asked.

  Ordinarily, I might have ignored her but the others were all looking at me for an answer. “Yes, Floor, I have a boyfriend.”

  Her gaze switched from me to Arwen and back to me before deigning to occupy herself by continuing with her breakfast.

  The piston sprang forward and I almost spilt coffee. “So, Freya, you’re really not…” Oh, Christ.

  I had to act quickly on this one. “…No! Karla, as I told you last night.”

  She shrugged because doubtless the memory just wasn’t there and Arwen gave me an expression of something between amusement and total confusion. By the looks of it, she had her own questions.

  But if this was a taste of what was to come after whatever Arwen and I were still to talk about then I couldn’t be sure how things would go when Gabe and Dan returned and had questions of their own.

  And as of yet, I hadn’t even done anything.

  I fanned my face with a napkin and then Karla was back, directing a question at Arwen.

  “And this Dan guy, he’s your boyfriend?”

  She shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of toast. “No, no. We’re just really great mates.”

  I liked them, well, most of them, but it was a relief when they cleared away their plates and we were able to watch them through the window as they crossed the road and plodded into the distance with huge backpacks slung over their shoulders.

  I blew out air. “Shower and then we’ll do the same.”

  Though not with them, only us.

  * * *

  The Gothic Quarter.

  And had I been alone then I’m sure the buildings, plazas, markets, museums, the Roman walls, secluded medieval alleyways, a temple and even a Baroque church covered in shrapnel holes from an explosion during the civil war would have been a lot more bewitching in the moment. However, there was a problem.

  Arwen was wearing a white plunge cropped shirt, treating me to a little more cleavage than yesterday, the lower edges of which were tied together to reveal her tight midriff and the jewel she wore in her belly button. As if that wasn’t enough, she also wore the tiniest pair of denim shorts I’d ever seen, showcasing those Goddess pins whilst the white and light blue colours totally complemented her golden skin. It had to have been intentional, the little minx, and several times since leaving the hostel I’d caught her making sly knowing glances from the corner of her eye. Yes, it was intentional, she knew what she was doing and it was turning my head to mush. Not only was it hard to concentrate on the ancient buildings, stonework, arches and the rest, it was damned near impossible to take my eyes off her.

  And I was far from the only one. The square was humming with tourists, most of whom were subtle about it but there were those less so, and I saw several
people casually filming her on their phones.

  “Don’t you just love these little alleyways?” She asked in all seriousness as we walked around the narrow stone slabbed back passages of the Gothic Quarter, a labyrinth of winding streets and hidden squares with a complete absence of vehicles. Dress us in clothes from a bygone era and we could have been in some other age.

  We emerged in Carrer del Bisbe with its fantastic Neogothic-style bridge that linked the Catalan regional government with the presidential residence and Arwen pulled out her phone that she’d somehow managed to squeeze into the pocket of those devilish shorts.

  “Selfie?”

  “Of course.”

  She held it in an outstretched arm whilst I shamelessly seized the opportunity to rub against her, threading my arm around her waist, experiencing the smoothness of her exposed flesh and pulling her close. She brought her left arm around to do the same and I felt her fingers sink into my hips through the skirt I was wearing, a complete thrill.

  “Ok, ready?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Our cheeks crushed together which forced a squashed smile from me, not my best photo but I reasoned that like me, she was trying to get more than close and every second, every graze of contact felt beyond description. It was certainly a different selfie to the one we’d taken in Carcassonne.

  “Oh, no, we didn’t get the bridge.” She declared with mock dismay.

  I gasped with similar pretence. “Oh damn it, best take another then.”

  She brought the camera back and, drunk in the moment, my hand innocently pressed flat against her right bum cheek.

  She giggled, stuck it out for my enjoyment and then her free arm was back around my hip, pulling mine into hers.

  I shook my head, “no, no, that pigeon’s all blurry, better do another.”