by Sally Bryan
She’d gone.
And now she was with Floor and the others.
But what of it?
Arwen had done the one thing I never asked or expected and now, it looked like I was completely in the clear. My infidelity would never be discovered. And what a weight off my shoulders. I exhaled deeply and must have smiled because Dan caught my eye and straightened, pointing at me.
“It was her.” The accusation came with another rise in tone.
“Whoa,” Gabe interjected calmly, “why are you blaming Freya for this? From the sound of things, Arwen never even mentioned her.” Although Gabe didn’t sound too convinced of that himself and if he didn’t know, he doubtless suspected I at least had something to do with Arwen ditching us for another group but that he felt compelled to do the protective boyfriend thing. I had to convince him though, and so I put my hand on his shoulder and leaned into him as a physical gesture of showing thanks for backing me up.
“Who fucking else could it be?” Dan held out his palms whilst pinning his shoulders in a raised position. “She was the only one with her these last two days. The two of us were detained, it can only have been that bitch.” He shouted across the room then his head dropped hopelessly. “I fucking loved her.”
Gabe had silenced and I knew he was thinking it all over so I was quick to preempt his conclusion.
“Dan, don’t you remember saying Arwen would leave us one day and join another group?” I spoke soothingly and was careful with my choice of words. “Well, I’m afraid it looks like that day’s come, she found what she considers to be a better group, probably with a nicer motor and she ditched us. It happens, Dan, don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Gabe met my eye and nodded, “yes, that … that sounds quite reasonable. Mate, as hard as it is to hear, it’s not all that surprising, is it?”
Dan was shaking his head and sniffed but didn’t say anything.
Right now, Dan needed to be around friends and so I made the suggestion that the three of us should stick together, maybe go out for dinner but he wasn’t hungry and so instead we went downstairs to mope and lounge about the communal room. Regardless, Gabe ordered in a large batch of tapas and in the end, Dan’s portion went to a brace of starving young travellers from Germany and we just ended up playing pool whilst keeping a watchful eye on Dan as he fell into a silent despair, missing easy shots and getting angry with himself. A movie was playing on the screen and we watched the second half of that and only afterwards did Gabe pull me aside. If I had reason to believe he’d quiz me about Arwen then he surprised me by raising a different subject.
“I’m thinking now might be a good time for us to slink back upstairs…” he waited for me to catch on and when I didn’t, “…you know, for sex.”
I straightened, caught off guard by the proposition and my glance moved to where Dan was sitting on the window ledge, staring blankly into the street as the last remnants of daylight revealed the people passing by. “What about him?”
He shrugged, “he’s too busy checking all the foreign faces for Arwen … doesn’t sound like she’s coming back though … pity for him … he was a bit obsessed but he ain’t about to do anything stupid if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He brushed up close. “But if you’re worried he might barge in then I’ll have a word with him, tell him not to, he’ll understand. It’s been sooooo long and you’re not helping, walking around in this fucking dress,” he plucked at the hem, “I want you right this very moment.”
After a second, I nodded, remembering the exorcism I probably needed, “right.”
Gabe put the plan to Dan and a few minutes later we were back in our room, I was thrown face first against the door and Gabe commenced grinding his crotch into my buttocks.
His hands were simultaneously fumbling with his zipper, tearing into a little foil packet and slipping the dress straps from my shoulders - Who said men couldn’t multitask?
“Fuck, this thing won’t open … hold on.”
And then I jolted when something crashed against the other side of the door, “Gabe?”
“Fuck off!” He called and something in Spanish was returned, “fuck! What do you want?”
“English?” Came the masculine voice, “my keycard is flashing the thing but the door won’t open.”
Gabe’s face screwed up as he grabbed a handful of his black hair and tugged. “That’s because I’m trying to fuck my bird against it,” he spat through gritted teeth.
“I think there might be an internal lock, could you turn it for me?” It was the voice of an older man.
Gabe was actually hesitating but it was a no-brainer for me. It wasn’t happening when someone was trying to enter the room.
“Just let him in, Gabe.” I straightened my hair and slipped the straps back on as I pottered over to my bed and sat.
Gabe, flushing obscenely red out of frustration, which seemed to bring out his black eye, unlocked the door and the man, who was evidently Arwen’s replacement, stepped cautiously inside, hauling one of those vintage brown leather suitcases. There was a big gash in the wooden door, where I assumed the suitcase had been dropped and we watched in silence as the man heaved it inside, blinked, and then hauled it atop the spare bed, the very same where only last night, Arwen had made love to me.
He was a big man, probably around sixty, wearing a white shirt pushed out by his belly with large wet stains under the arms. His face was covered in three or four days of stubble and his eyes possessed only sadness. He lowered himself onto the bed, surveyed the room, the lockers, the dust, the one window, the angry company, and sighed before unstrapping his case and began sifting through his belongings.
Then, to our surprise, Dan walked through the still opened door, not that it made any difference now, and blanched as he stepped in the air trail left by the newcomer. He prised the window further open then returned to his bed from where he joined us in studying the man as he began pulling out garments, a bible and other papers before spreading them around. In the moment, I almost thought I could read Dan’s mind - What kind of a substitute is this?
I decided to break the silence and make the man feel welcome. “Hello, I’m Freya and these are Gabe and Dan.”
He looked up, “oh, right, hello, I’m Juan,” and then went back to his clothes. I tried.
“Right then,” Gabe said in an authoritative voice, “this city has been a complete disaster … might as well decide where we’re heading next.” He was looking at Dan as he spoke and to my surprise, I didn’t even care whether or not he continued travelling with us, he needed friends right now so either way really, although I wouldn’t push it too much.
“Where do you have in mind?” I asked, trying to include Dan but he just continued staring blankly ahead.
Gabe shrugged and adjusted his cargo shorts. “Down the coast would be most logical; Valencia, Alicante, Malaga, hmmm, excuse me?” He gestured to the old man, “you’re Spanish? Where would you suggest?”
The man was slow to realise he was being spoken to and rubbed his bristles, his bed now displaying a large array of clothing and, amongst other things, a frying pan, dish and a few utensils. “Oh, um, I don’t know.”
“Well, where are you from?” I asked, for whatever reason intrigued.
“Here … Barcelona.”
Gabe snorted, “travelling far?” I could have clouted him.
But I was even more curious now. “Um, isn’t this a youth hostel? As in … meant for travellers?”
His chin lowered and he rubbed his eyes. “Cheaper than hotel.”
Very true and judging by his appearance and demeanour, I now had the impression he’d been kicked out by his wife and had no intention of further venturing into his personal business. So he wasn’t a traveller, let’s leave him be.
Then, for the first time in a while, Dan spoke. “You got caught, didn’t you?”
I shook my head as the man baulked and looked from me, to Gabe, to Dan. “Let me give advice to you young people … the next time your wi
fe say to stop chasing other woman, you listen.”
Chapter Six
Andalusia
It was a long and lazy seven days journeying south, clinging to the coast as much as the roads would allow as the sun baked us alive and opening the windows seemed not to alleviate the temperature within the camper. We spent nights in Valencia, Alicante and Murcia, though the latter was heavily industrialised and looked nothing like the brochure and it was good to get away, to find the next place, wherever that might be.
For the first time, it genuinely felt like we were on the road, that we were travelling like we were supposed to and could go anywhere, that we were free, that the world was ours and the pressures of home were so far behind they might never have existed. The country was large, the roads surprisingly clear and the company relaxed. I was alive.
We saved money by parking the camper and spending the nights under trees or overlooking beaches, buying low priced food from supermarkets and cooking it on the stove, drinking tea or cheap alcohol and whiling away the evenings seeing whatever sites the town we happened to be had to offer or else relaxing, reading, chatting and playing cards or games on our mobile devices.
“Some say it’s the most beautiful city in Spain,” I was reading articles about the city we were heading as we cruised at an easy sixty along an empty road and I raised my voice for Dan in the back, “have you heard of Malaga?”
He barely stirred from his position lying down on the bench, facing into the wall as he always did, from where he stared into his phone. “I’ve heard of it.”
The girl leaving had changed him. Where before he’d enjoyed being the life and soul, now he spoke only when spoken to, and even then it was only ever to mutter a few words. That was apart from when he was busking, which he did almost daily, setting up in busy streets and singing the classics he said paid the most, though I couldn’t help noticing they were all sad songs and imagine my surprise when he began handing over enough funds to cover his third of the fuel. Though upon returning to the camper, it made little difference where we were or what magnificent scenery and views we passed, Dan would always spend the journeys lying down, sleeping or staring blankly into that small screen. It was like he’d given up any pretence of interest in travel and exploration and took each day only as it came, just getting through it with as little exertion as possible. The reason for his melancholy was obvious and over the course of the week, three or four times, his phone would chime and he’d perk up unexpectedly, though only briefly, and it was an easy guess who’d messaged him.
I didn’t ask, even though I was curious myself, what she was doing, where she was, how she was. And over the long hours, as I gazed out the window at the mountain ranges, there was much time for reflection.
I’d been worse than a bitch.
I’d grown to like that girl an awful lot, respected her, revelled in being around her, truly enjoyed her company and, had we met at university or anywhere else, there was little doubt we’d have been lifelong friends. But the magical, far removed from real life experiences of travelling through Europe had severely warped the dynamic, the natural order of existence, the normal boundaries of friendship and what was acceptable. For me at least.
I’d been under a spell. I knew this because I could still feel it working inside me. It was the adrenaline of freedom and after a lifetime of regimented discipline, of boring study and high expectations, I’d received an extra large dose of freedom all at once. Added to that a captivating woman, alcohol and the final ingredient, an opportunity, then it had all come to a head.
I’d been wrong to blame her because it was not all her doing. We’d connected on a rare level, I’d felt truly close to her and in the moment I’d truly wanted it. And she was good. So very good.
And then I’d panicked because I’m not a lesbian.
No, it was just one of those experiences, which I’d thought I wanted. But now, at least, I could look back and know I’d done that one truly crazy, or stupid thing and rest easy knowing it hadn’t completely fucked up my life.
I’d been lucky there. Anything could have happened. We could have been caught, she might have blabbed or a million other things might have occurred to mess things up for my future.
Of course, I regretted the way things were left but I’d had no choice. It was the nearest I’d ever been to breaking up with someone and, as it turned out, I was terrible at it and yes, I’d miss her friendship but it was impossible for anything to have developed between us.
On reflection, it was for the best she was gone.
But I would miss the girl. Perhaps not as much as Dan, but I’d miss her and now, as I marvelled at the Mediterranean just metres away, I found myself smiling from the memory of her changing our burst tyre. I’d remember her fondly and one day, she’d make some lucky girl happy.
We were only half an hour from Malaga, outside a small town that went by the name of Rincón de la Victoria, which lay on the southern coastal road and where a hill provided an amazing view of the beach below, we pulled onto a patch of grass and parked the camper for the night.
It was what we often did because who wanted to sleep in the camper on a busy city street when we could easily choose the scenic option instead? This way the nights were pleasant and we could roll into our destination first thing in the morning and have the full day to explore before hitting the road again in the evening.
There was, however, one problem with this approach and, at eight in the evening, I swatted at one of them now.
“I thought Arwen gave you a mosquito band?” Gabe was futilely blowing at the air and cursing that the buggers dared enter our camper.
“She did,” I slapped at the air around my face, “but I didn’t like the smell and you know, they snap real easy.”
“Still, we could do with some of them now. How well did it work? I was bit five times by the fuckers last night.” Indeed, there was a large red blotch on his neck and he was becoming increasingly irritated by them. “I should text Dan and tell him to pick up some spray at the supermarket.”
“I think they work on some people but not others.”
“Huh?”
“Bloody mosquito bands.”
He clattered against the counter top and let out a girly shriek. “So they’re useless then because mozzies bite some people and not others and they’re certainly getting me and not you.” His face was red now and his side parting had dislodged.
I shut my Kindle and rubbed my temples, “Gabe will you settle down, you’ll do yourself a bloody mischief,” and trying to concentrate on some family named Stark moving south was an impossible task with such distractions. I’d been told the book was good, and there was apparently some TV series doing the rounds, which had missed me completely but still, it was escapism and there’d never be a better time for it.
“That’s easy for you to say,” he said something else but it was lost on me as he bounded through the open camper door to the outside.
He returned five minutes later, evidently having found a shop because he was now furnished with a box of mosquito repelling incense sticks. He lit them, wafted his hand about the air, sniffed and hummed. “I swear, they get worse the further south you get but let’s see what this does.”
“Gabe, your forehead?” I recoiled at the sight of another large red patch that had appeared from nowhere.
He checked his face in the mirror and swore, again ran from the camper and returned a few minutes later with a small tube after apparently having been to a chemist. “And there was Arwen with a simple wristband.” He rubbed some cream onto his forehead. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to ask … did the two of you have an argument or something? A bit weird she’d just up and bugger off like that.”
My face was buried in the Kindle and I didn’t look up. “It’s not weird at all, Gabe, how are those smelly sticks working?”
He fanned at the air about his face in a way that reminded me of Kelly Atkins and how she’d done the exact same thing when her boyf
riend dumped her, though Gabe was sniffing the air and had a different expression. “They seem to be working so far … fingers crossed … smell nice at least.”
“They do.” Now please some silence whilst I read.
It was less than a minute later when the clipping began and my eyes darted up to see he’d crossed one leg over the other and was cutting his toenails. The shards were landing on the carpet when there was a perfectly good outside right in front of him.
He noticed my angry glare, “I ain’t going out with those bastards swarming around. In here, I have my protective barrier, I’m safe.”
“Whatever,” I exhaled and shut the Kindle, one day I’d finish chapter one. “Gabe,” I began, thinking now might be a suitable time to broach the subject, “Malaga … well, when we get there … it’s only a two-hour drive from Gibraltar and I was thinking that maybe we could go there after?”
He frowned, “Gibraltar?” Snip. “I’ve heard there’re monkeys there?” Snip, snip.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, my allergy.” Snip.
“So, don’t go near them then, problem solved.” I shook my head in exasperation. “Really, Gabe, there are cats everywhere and you deal with them all right,” I’d heard some pitiful excuses in my time but that one really took the biscuit, cake and muffin all in one, “and it was only back in Dinan when you suggested that very thing yourself.”
“What?”
“Our first night here.”
“Huh?” Snip. He looked up and his eyebrows dipped, pulling the rash down his forehead. “Doctor, what are you talking about?”
For a moment, I could only stare in confusion. Was he playing the village idiot all of a sudden? I spoke slow and deliberate, just for him. “To see my bloody sister! Who lives in Gibraltar! Remember?”
Snip, snip, snip. “Oh yeah, you’re probably right. Yeah, we could do that.” Snip. “Come on, Dan, how long do you need, I’m dying of thirst here.”
Since Gabe was hungover, the next morning I drove the camper into the city. Malaga was indeed everything I’d hoped for. It had that special something that couldn’t be explained but after giving it some thought, I reckoned it was probably the way the beautiful birds tweeted from the trees on the main promenade, how everything looked so spruced up, even though the place was ancient and indeed, the harbour looked like it had only just been finished with outdoor bars and restaurants all appearing so shiny, the asphalt with barely a discarded piece of gum to tread on and the benches and posts with fresh coats of paint.