Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  We found a place for breakfast and sat at a table beneath a large marque as the morning sun established its heat and the harbour’s water shone abnormally blue. There were huge yachts moored sporadically and I couldn’t guess as to their value. We ate ham and eggs over a diced potato base with extra strong coffee.

  “Just what I needed,” Gabe croaked from beneath his sunglasses, his breath still reeking of last nights beer. His arms were now covered in red marks from mosquito bites, to add to the collection growing over his face and neck, though for whatever reason, they’d chosen to ignore me completely. I’d told him to find some Aloe for them but, typical man, he didn’t think his complexion was bad enough to warrant it.

  Dan was leaning back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head, having not spoken a single word all morning.

  “Do you fancy coming to the Botanical Garden with us?” I felt the need to include him more than ever. It wasn’t yet at the stage I feared him wandering the streets alone but who could say where things might lead?

  He shook his head. “Thanks but no.”

  “How about the Alcazaba?” I asked, referring to the eleventh-century fortress that adorned all the postcards.

  “I’m thinking I’ll just head to the beach, maybe check out the historic centre later and find a nice spot to play some songs.”

  I hummed, “maybe we’ll catch you at some point.”

  The Botanical Gardens had been built in the mid eighteen hundreds and combined the forest with grand estate gardens not unlike what you’d typically find in England. As it turned out, they were indeed built by an English woman and her Spanish husband and I wondered how many of the birds that perched in the trees had come from my country since some of them, the redbreast robins especially, looked so familiar.

  Gabe was crouching near one particular sweet bird whilst making tweeting sounds to entice it to come closer and I’d never known any wild bird dare approach a human like that. I guess it was Gabe’s karma and since the universe was at peace with him, I thought now would be the ideal moment to again mention a certain topic.

  “That thing we were discussing last night?…”

  He raised an eyebrow that seemed to agitate the growing red splodge on his forehead, “mosquitoes?”

  I squeezed his hand and giggled. “No silly, Gibraltar. You do remember when I told you my sister lives there?” He remained silent so I continued. “Anyway, it’s just that we’re so close and I’ve not seen her in so long, I really shouldn’t pass up this chance and I honestly think you’ll love her…” I finished in the hope he’d pick up where I left off and he did, after a while.

  “How can you be so sure I’d love her when you haven’t seen her in so long?”

  I let go of his hand, “because she’s my sister, you have no choice.”

  He gave me a funny look as if to suggest my reasoning was stupid and that maybe I was daft for wanting to see my sister for the first time in so long. The truth was that only a week ago it was the last thing I’d wanted but I don’t know, something had happened in the meantime and I wasn’t sure what exactly. It doubtless had something to do with my sudden proximity to her and therefore an opportunity presenting itself but I also thought that Arwen triggering Lizzie in my head had a lot to do with it too. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure I wanted to go through with it, and would likely even lose my nerve when the time came but right now it felt like something I had to do.

  “Don’t you look at me like that,” I finally told him, “and while we’re at it, I didn’t appreciate how you acted so indifferent last night. She’s my family, why am I even having to persuade you?”

  He raised his voice, startling an elderly couple who were admiring the nearby flowers. “Because she abandoned you and your family. What kind of sister does that? Honestly, your family…” he stopped suddenly and shook his head.

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. “My family? What of my family? You met my dad and said you adored him and tell me, what could my brother possibly have done to offend you?”

  His mouth twice opened to speak but he bit down so hard on his bottom lip that it turned white. Finally, his face softened, “I’m sorry, of course, I love your family and that includes your sister. We should visit her.”

  I beamed and took both his hands in mine. “Are you sure? Because if you’re not we don’t have to.”

  He laughed because he knew there was no way out of it now. Didn’t I have the best boyfriend?

  And then it hit me.

  Because the day after tomorrow, I’d see my sister.

  * * *

  “Barcelona, it ain’t.” He picked up a pebble and threw it at the sea but it fell short.

  I shook my head, wanting to ignore his bad mood. “How would you know, you barely got to see it.”

  “And I’m supposed to lie on this?” He adjusted his towel for the third time and began ransacking through his bag for, I assumed, some sunscreen. “And you know that wasn’t my fault.”

  “Well personally, I prefer this beach to Barcelona.” Which was true, not that it appeased him. The thing is that sand sticks to your skin the minute you apply sunscreen and after the slightest breeze you’re covered in the stuff. At least with shingle it isn’t an issue and neither do you have to worry about nearby volleyballs landing splat on your face whilst you’re supine.

  He pulled out his factor sixty and began plastering it over his legs. “It hurts to lie down and my back’s already in pain. Would it kill you to do more of the driving?”

  I sighed and spread my own cream over my legs, arms and front. When it came to beaches on a hot sunny day, I’d trust the Spanish and on this day, the beach was crammed with locals. As for his remark about driving more, I’d been doing at least half but such a thing was hardly worth arguing about, not when all I wanted was to enjoy being with Gabe on a beach, something that, despite its simplicity, we’d never done before. “I’ll be happy to do more driving.”

  He nodded, “good,” and handed me his sunscreen, turning his back to face me, “would you mind?”

  “Of course,” I squirted a dollop into my palm and began lavishing it over his back, noticing he’d been bitten several times at the base of his neck, “would you please find a chemist and get some hydrocortisone, for me?”

  He grunted acknowledgement and after finishing, I kissed him on the back, handed him the bottle and turned around for him to return the favour.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  And when his hands never came, I turned back to find him already lying on his front, eyes closed.

  I was so incensed, all I could do was squeeze the bottle as hard as I could to prevent myself from throwing it at him and even then, I still came very close. Instead, I settled for silently mouthing something I’d never before called him, flattened my towel across the shingle and lay upon it, faced down.

  “Beer … Coca-Cola, beer … Coca-Cola.” The nearby voice woke me.

  I stirred, not knowing for how long I’d been sleeping, opened my eyes and found Gabe was already sitting up, waving his arm for the man to approach.

  “Over here,” he called, “Doctor, you fancy a beer?”

  “No, thanks.” I was still angry, seething even and readjusted my nose, trying to fit it comfortably between two large pebbles.

  “Si? Beer … Coca-Cola?”

  “Beer. No, no, just one.”

  Someone mumbled something and there was a jingle of coins.

  “You want open?”

  “How else am I supposed to drink it?”

  I shuffled and scratched at my back, which had begun to itch.

  There was a clink, shortly followed by that familiar eruption sound, “awe, Señor, I so sorry.”

  “The fuck?”

  “Please, I sorry, I get you another.”

  “You soaked my fucking shorts.”

  I opened my eyes and scowled into the pebbles.

  “I sorry, here, I open another,” clink, “I sorry, here.”

  “A
hard job … walking up and down all fucking day, yet you can’t even do that without drenching your customers.”

  “I say sorry, Señor. Have nice day.”

  I pushed myself up and glared at him, “Gabe, what has got into you?” The man was bounding down the beach towards a new group lying on the shingle. “Since when were you ever so mean to poor,” I didn’t know what the man’s job title was so I couldn’t say it, “well?”

  His jaw set upwards. “The man was a buffoon and he drenched me, look,” he brushed at the stain on his brown cargo shorts, “and I’ll smell of beer now.”

  I didn’t say that he already did and instead shook my head hopelessly. “So? You can put on a fresh pair back at the camper, no harm done. Why are you being like this so suddenly? The Gabe who got me through university never treated people like that.” Not once. And I was beginning to worry what was happening to him. And why.

  He took a large gulp from his bottle and threw another pebble. “Sometimes … sometimes it just feels like the whole world’s…” he squeezed hard around the neck and tapped the base against his knee.

  “The whole world’s…?”

  “Nothing, never mind. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

  “Well, if you won’t tell me, I can’t help you.” I put my hand on his arm and he moved it away.

  “I don’t want your help. I just want to relax.”

  We stayed another hour without saying a single word to each other and when it was time to leave and I moved my arms, I definitely felt an unfamiliar chafing sensation all over my back so that the simple act of slipping on my dress was like being set on fire as it unfurled down my body. As for my bag strap, I wasn’t about to risk that digging into my flesh, so I settled for winding the cord around my hand and carrying it.

  Of course, I knew what had happened but didn’t give a shit and hoped I still wouldn’t give a damn once the pain became truly terrible and even when we stopped at the chemist to purchase some hydrocortisone for Gabe, I still forwent buying moisturiser and anti-inflammatories.

  * * *

  The next day, Gabe surprised me.

  Despite the boys engaging in yet more late night drinking, he was awake before I was and it was the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the camper that brought me to.

  “Coffee,” he placed the mug on the small pull out table to my side, “breakfast won’t be long.” There’s nothing in the world quite like waking up to the smell of strong coffee and a cooked breakfast whilst the sun pours in through the open windows. He pecked me on the cheek and returned to the stove.

  I had to blink and rub my eyes because not only was he cooking but he’d also showered and shaved so that there was no facial hair to conceal the ever-growing bites and subsequent allergic reactions that covered his face and neck. But after the disaster that was yesterday, if he was turning over a new leaf then I wouldn’t argue.

  He was grinning whilst flipping a bunch of mushrooms and that was when I noticed what he was wearing, jeans instead of cargo shorts, a white shirt and pair of black shoes, of all things.

  “Hey, are you feeling ok?”

  He knew what I was referring to and opened out his arms to encompass himself. “Just because a guy’s travelling, does that mean he can’t dress nice?”

  I was still regarding him with narrowed eyes until finally dismissing it, “it’s just not like you, that’s all.” It kind of suited him though, in a way, I just wasn’t used to it and had to think whether it was my birthday, which it wasn’t, then I realised the reason for his madness. “Run out of clothes, huh? That beer guy trash the last of them? Don’t worry, we’ll find a launderette. Where’s Dan?”

  Gabe set the food on a plate and to my astonishment, brought it over on a tray complete with a single Gazania flower, the very same I’d told him I loved back at the Botanic Garden. “Enjoy, my love,” he kissed me on the cheek and sat beside me, “Dan said he had a good day yesterday so he set off early to play some songs and yes, I took that from someone’s garden, cos I know you’re wondering.”

  This last was because I was sniffing the flower and still gazing at its bright orange and red beauty. I shifted against the backrest because my back was itching terribly, which reminded me of our arguing the day before but today was a new day.

  I bit into a rasher of bacon, which crunched most beautifully. “Aren’t you having any?”

  “I, um, I’m not hungry this morning.” He patted me on the leg and went to stand in the open door from where he spent several minutes staring out at the sea that crashed against the cliff face below.

  I finished the breakfast and silently approached him from behind and he was startled when I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Are you all right? Gabe, you’re shaking.” I stepped back, my hands taking his forearm instead.

  “Am I?” He shrugged, his pale skin revealing no evidence of having been in yesterday’s sun. “It’s fine, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

  “Something you’ve eaten, fish perhaps?”

  He’d taken a beating from the mosquitoes but they wouldn’t cause him to shake. Sunstroke? No, the symptoms would have manifest sooner. He could tell I was trying to make a quick diagnosis and raised his voice. “I’m fine, Freya, don’t look at me like that. If there was something wrong, don’t you think I’d know?”

  I backed away, “ok, ok. I love you and was rightly worried, that’s all.”

  His arms opened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped, it’s just … it doesn’t matter.”

  After a small hesitation, I fell into them and sniffed the fresh cologne of something yummy. “How could I be mad when you cook me breakfast? And I hope you won’t boil in these clothes.”

  He brought me to arms’ length. “You know, since I’ve put on a shirt, I was hoping you could wear that red dress I love. Did you bring it?”

  I nodded, “of course.”

  Half an hour later, I was driving the camper into the city and after parking, we walked the short distance to the Alcazaba, arriving just before midday. Alcazaba was the Arabic word for citadel, which it most certainly was, an incredibly large castle structure surrounded by two ancient walls atop a hill right in the centre of the city. Opposite the entrance, there was a Roman amphitheatre, closed off to all but the dozen cats that had made it their home. The Alcazaba itself was far more of an impressive attraction than the two Euro entrance fee would have you expect, with so many nooks providing surprises around every corner, beautiful gardens, Moorish wall designs, art, artefacts and lookout points providing the best views over the city, from where I could see an enormous cruise ship moored at the marina and an endless file of slow walking people trickling from it.

  Although worth it, some of the slopes were extremely steep and I took care to walk in shadow whenever I could. My back felt like it was being scratched by a cat every time I moved my arms and my bag strap chafed like fire to the extent I was now severely regretting yesterday’s tantrum. There wasn’t much to be done with sunburn, other than keeping it moisturised, out of the sun and riding it out whilst hoping you don’t develop melanoma. In the meantime, the pain must be endured and I kept a tight grip of Gabe’s hand, if only to prevent him from putting his arm around my back, not that he tried, or even said very much, whilst I reflected on the logic that if we Scots were meant for the sun then we’d probably have it more than two days out of the year.

  After a couple of hours at the Alcazaba we went for tapas and coffee, followed by a wander around the fantastic shopping area that, whilst outside, had decorative draperies hanging from one building to the next, covering street after street so that we were shaded by artwork. The pleasant breeze that swept up the Calle Marques de Larios was like heaven in the heat, not that Gabe appreciated it.

  I stopped and turned into him, “Gabe, you’re sweating.”

  He nodded, “well it’s a hot day and I’m wearing jeans,” he checked the time on his phone, which had to have been the fourth or fifth occasion in the last ten minutes he’d
done so.

  “Somewhere you need to be?”

  He dismissed my concern with a hand then used the same to take my own and led me through a tangle of narrow, drape covered streets, his hand noticeably cold, clammy and trembling before we emerged in the open and found ourselves standing in a busy square.

  Despite its small size, the cathedral entrance was nearby, which suggested this was actually an important historical place and indeed, the crowds reflected that. Nearly all the cafe tables were occupied, a flock of pigeons darted from one building to another and from the fountain, the gentle strums of a guitar were just audible over the ruckus.

  “Oh, how beautiful.” From the postcards, I recognised the square as the true centre of Malaga.

  Gabe cleared his throat, “it beauty and full of musical over there.”

  “What?” I squinted as he pulled me in a ragged path towards the fountain and music.

  A crowd had gathered around the musician and no wonder, he was good, and the fountain was so pretty and someone tossed a coin into its shallows followed by another in the guitar case and the atmosphere was so pleasant and I readjusted my sunglasses and what the fuck, but the musician was Dan and the reason I hadn’t noticed was because he was wearing a tux.

  I stepped closer and my head jerked forward. Yes, it was him and he looked so clean and even his man bun was tied up, which was a surprise and why was he wearing a tux to busk in this oppressive heat? Then I recognised the song.

  “Gotta go, go, go,

  I said yo, yo, yo,

  Gotta go, go, go,

  I’m ready, let’s get it on.”