by Sally Bryan
He gave me a look as if to suggest I’d lost my mind, “um, because I drove here.”
“We were meant to be going to Gibraltar, to see my sister, remember?”
He paused and looked up with a dopey expression, “oh yeah, clean forgot about that. Oh well, I think we’ll find Seville better anyway, no harm done.”
So that’s how he was playing it, by pretending to be dumb, when it was only at breakfast I’d spoken for a full ten minutes about wanting to climb The Rock with Lizzie.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he continued as he drove through the gate and changed into second, third, fourth, “mistakes happen. I’ve had Seville on my mind because I knew it’s where we both wanted to go and where we’d have been heading now anyway had you not sprung this sister bullshit on me at the last minute.” Sister bullshit?
“So, you’re claiming this is a mistake?” I sounded weird, scary even, like a demon had taken possession of my vocal chords.
He shifted and sounded defensive. “Are you claiming I did it deliberately?”
“If you didn’t do it on purpose then prove it, turn around and drive back to Gibraltar.” I heard Dan stirring from behind but didn’t turn around to look.
Gabe opened his mouth to speak but decided to take a few extra seconds to consider his words. “I think we’re a little too far beyond it now to bother … go see your sister some other time and besides, that last toll cost nearly thirty Euros, not to mention the fuel.”
For a long moment, I was too incredulous to speak and once or twice he turned his head to check if I’d let it drop but no, I was still glaring into him and seeing nothing of what I thought I’d always loved.
“So you did do it on purpose. This is why you wanted to drive so you could plead ignorance and drive right past it.”
Dan approached and stuck his head between the two front seats. “What’s up? I thought we were going to Gibraltar?” And by that, I could at least deduce this was not something Gabe had concocted with his friend, who appeared to be just as ignorant as I was. No, this had undoubtedly been an opportunistic change of plan because, for whatever reason, my fiancé did not wish to meet my sister.
Gabe ignored Dan and addressed my earlier point. “Well it serves you right for falling asleep, doesn’t it.” He raised his voice, his earlier defence now turning to attack, blaming me for this but his statement brought the logical conclusion.
“You saw me sleeping and decided to drive straight past Gibraltar.” I accused as I watched carefully for his reaction but he just squinted at the road ahead, changed lanes and shifted into fifth.
I turned bodily away, knowing the truth even if he wouldn’t admit it. All the pieces fit except for the one about why he didn’t want to meet Lizzie. Not that it mattered now.
Because we were heading for Seville.
And that changed things.
* * *
It was officially the hottest city in Europe and easily one of the most beautiful, not that I got to see a great deal of Seville, despite spending three nights there.
It’s not that I was ‘sulking,’ as Gabe put it but rather thinking through everything and I did so alone, as the boys explored the city, leaving me in a small camper park a mile out from the hustle and bustle where other campers settled and shared wine, food from barbecues and tales of their travels.
I didn’t need long to realise skipping Gibraltar was probably for the best because why would I want to introduce my sister to Gabe anyway? And that thought was a revelation. Though soon after thinking it, I’d backtrack and feel bad but then Gabe and Dan would return to the camper after midnight, wake me up drunk and I’d feel it all over again.
Gabe repeatedly denied that missing Gibraltar had been intentional but I didn’t believe him. After five years it was easy to tell when your boyfriend was lying but I didn’t bother questioning him on the reasons. What was the point? He was still denying it and, to my surprise, I found myself caring less and less about his excuses, which was another revelation. Indeed, I found myself caring less and less about what he was doing at all, even if such a rumination came and went with my ever-changing moods.
At one point I toyed with the idea of jumping on a train and heading to Gibraltar solo, even taking off with the camper whilst they were on one of their all-day benders and leaving them to pick up the pieces but I lacked the spirit to do anything that crazy. I feared I’d get halfway there and then regret it, turn back and look like a damned over emotional bloody fool and besides, the last thing I wanted was to see my sister after all these years only to have Interpol on the lookout for me.
One evening, whilst sharing a burger and beer with a middle-aged couple from Germany, I spent considerable time staring at my ring, wondering how a future with Gabe might be.
Something had changed, either with him, myself or both of us and I wondered if it had been a bad consequence of travelling and, for the first time ever, being away from the environment where we grew and became used to each other. Had that altered our relationship? It was one possibility. Though in all likelihood it was probably a combination of a range of things.
Would our relationship return to normal after arriving home and we were able to engage in the sort of routine we were used to?
And even if I had that guarantee, would I want it?
Maybe we’d simply run our course and the cracks were finally exposing themselves. But if we were to end things, what would that mean for the last five years? Would all that time have been wasted? Did it even matter?
For the best part of three days, I thought about all these things until the time came when we left Seville and drove straight west, crossing the River Guadiana to arrive in the Algarve region of Southern Portugal. From the reading I did, which was later confirmed by what I saw, the beaches were some of the most incredible in Europe, with perfect clean sands and shallow waves that rolled so fast yet so gentle that your feet were constantly awash as you strolled along the surf.
And I walked alone, flip flops in hand, hat donned and usually in the early morning or after the sun had set so that my shoulders were not further aggravated.
I’d never seen so many campers than in Southern Portugal. At times, it seemed like every camper in Europe had descended in this one place so that the locals, screaming from behind their wheels, would lose patience at the sight of every slow-moving foreigner and I saw several near collisions on long narrow straight roads. Along the entire coast there were so many camper stops offering full facilities at low prices that we spent an entire week travelling only a few miles as the beaches became better and better the further west we ventured. There were no major cities to speak of, only small towns spread out, and I saw many new build houses and apartment blocks, most probably holiday homes for the continent’s middle classes as the population expanded faster than the infrastructure was able to cope and I lamented that this place of incredible natural beauty would inevitably soon be lost forever.
One night we followed the map and drove to the south and westernmost tip of Europe, a road through craggy landscape where the only thing that grew were strange shoots and bushes that burst up through the rocks, a place that had been considered sacred ground since the Neolithic period, a place where the Romans thought the sun set larger than anywhere else, where it sank hissing into the ocean, a place that marked the edge of the world, a place called Cape St Vincent.
We were far from the only ones with the same plan and we parked amongst the many other campers on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the Atlantic. It was twilight and the waves crashed against the rocks far below. The night was cloudless and to look up was to see the stars like no other place. It was almost like this spot had been made for contemplation and introspection, and to stand at the cliff edge was to look out on the world.
It was the moment in the movies where a person in deep trouble comes back from the brink after having made a major discovery about themselves, though the truth was I made the discovery days ago.
It
was the discovery of why, no matter how hard I tried, nothing with Gabe seemed to work anymore. And I truly had tried. But my relationship was failing regardless. And it was failing through a combination of three things; Gabe, providence interjecting on our behalf and myself. And I was wrecking it both consciously and unconsciously.
And even though I’d made the discovery, I’d held out from acknowledging it. Perhaps I’d wanted to be certain or maybe I was too afraid to admit it because if I was to once again embark down that path then this time, it would not merely be for the summer, but forever. The rest of my life.
The consequences of falling in love with a person who was far from suitable, whatever that even meant, would almost certainly mean I’d find myself in the same position as my sister. Lizzie was cut off from her inheritance but more than that, she was cut off from her family.
I loved my dad, as pigheaded as he was, but he’d already lost so much and he did not deserve to lose me as well.
But if I married Gabe, I knew I would never be happy.
I was in love with a person who was not suitable, a person who would cost me my inheritance, the security that came with it and the two people I loved more than anything else in the world.
But I was in love with Arwen.
Not that it mattered because she was gone, I’d never see her again and I had to accept that. Now, as I stood atop the cliff edge, the Atlantic thrashing at the rocks below, all I could do was wonder where she was, what she was doing and who she was doing it with.
Ever since this road trip began, I’d been challenged, asked questions, flipped over and turned inside out. Europe had tripped me so hard that it was impossible to be sure of anything anymore.
I don’t know for how long I stared blankly out into the abyss as the last of the day’s natural brightness phased to black and the only visible light came from the stars and the rotating beam from a far-off lighthouse. I was waiting for a sign, any sign, something from Providence, any message which, my logical mind knew, was futile.
They say that when you’re ready the answers will find you but I don’t know what I was expecting because in this moment of contemplation and introspection, nothing happened and neither did Gabe, with a fear for the safety of his fiancée, bother leaving the camper to check how I was doing after all this time standing on the edge of a cliff.
Save for the constant churning of water, there was nothing. No sign from Providence to tell me I was on the right track and nothing came from the void to tell me I was completely crazy.
I yawned and plodded back to the camper. There were torch lights flashing from where I guessed people were heading over the rocks to find a spot to toilet. Some of the campers were lit, two or three with people sitting on chairs beside opened doors as they ate cheese and drank wine into the night.
Gabe and Dan were doing the same and as I approached, their conversation fell silent and I knew they were discussing me and my recent moods. Ignoring them, I stepped inside, tired, and went straight to my backpack to find my nightclothes and I rustled through the mess that was my things, couldn’t find what I needed, continued, chucked clothing out and still couldn’t find them and in a fit of impatience, I picked up the bag and tipped it upside down.
Amongst the clothing and toiletries, something heavy thumped against the floor and I stooped to retrieve it before holding it to the small intermittent light from the beacon to read it in the dark.
It was a wine bottle, still full, corked, with a deep punt at the base and fancy script that read Château Haut-Brion from Bordeaux.
I’d forgotten all about it.
And as I collapsed onto the bed, I knew one thing.
Providence had given me a sign.
* * *
So much for travelling.
It was like we’d discovered the Algarve and had no intention of ever leaving, to explore what the rest of Europe, or even Portugal, had to offer. Though in reality, it wasn’t quite like that.
Gabe loved it down here and had quickly managed to learn basic Portuguese but did so at the expense of having to spend long hours sleeping in the camper surrounded by a protective shield of incense.
Dan was still just as bummed out over Arwen as the day she left almost three weeks ago but at least the town of Portimão provided him with a place to make money busking whilst drinking low priced alcohol to dull his melancholy. I could tell he was messaging Arwen by the way he reacted on the rare instance she’d ever reply and on more than one occasion, I had to physically prevent myself from enquiring about her.
My skin had peeled and recovered and now I’d had my little tantrum, I was more careful about covering my Scottish skin whenever I was out in the sun, which is what I spent much of my time doing.
I was unhappy. More so than at any time in my life. And the long lazy days only provided time to reflect on my mistake.
I’d been with, albeit painfully briefly, the most wonderful person in the world. Not only wonderful but funny, intelligent, worldly and incredibly sexy. After a bad start, we’d found ourselves clicking, however that had happened but it did.
That this person was a woman was still uncomfortable for me, incredibly uncomfortable in fact, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never thought of myself as one of those women and had it not been for Arwen, it was doubtful I ever would have. What that meant, I had no idea, and the thought of having to introduce Arwen, or any other girl, to my friends and family as my girlfriend struck me down with fear and a lot more besides. I don’t know, it had all come from nowhere and I’d had little time to get used to this new idea of myself. In fact, all I knew for certain was that I missed her more than anything.
She was always there at the front and back of my thoughts, the whole time and I spent such long periods staring blankly into her photo, watching her music videos and replaying our time together in my mind that I worried I’d make myself sick.
I could only ever eat small amounts, despite the food being so delicious and sometimes I could eat nothing at all.
Gabe, Dan and I did spend some time together as a group though it was mostly for breakfast in the camper and the occasional futile dinner at a restaurant though conversation was mostly absent and the subject of what to do or where to head next was never broached. It was like we’d developed a group fatigue and now we’d found a place we could lounge about in comfort, we’d lost all desire to explore though in truth, what good is exploration when everybody’s miserable?
It was this misery, exacerbated by long periods of solitude that finally forced a decision upon me. Though my making the decision came about indirectly and with a little help from an unexpected source in a moment of despair filled madness, which is hardly the time to be making life-altering decisions but what could I do? A bottle of wine from the heavens had spoken.
By this point, it was only out of necessity that Gabe and I were sleeping in the same bed, though always with a large gap between us. One night I awoke to find him snoring on the floor, and another, when I was still lying awake at one in the morning, I crept outside and made the short walk into the town of Lagos, soon afterwards finding myself in a bar. It was most uncharacteristically irrational behaviour and evidence to my mind that I was not right in the head.
“It’s port around here, isn’t it? I’ll have whichever you recommend.” I told the barman, a tiny slip of a man who looked too well groomed to be real. It was moderately busy, though hardly late by Portuguese standards and Born This Way by Lady Gaga was playing on a diminished volume.
“True but if you’d like to experience my country then we’re trying Ginja.” The girl took the seat to my side and spoke some quick Portuguese to the barman who began preparing the shots. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I will? What is it?” I turned to briefly appraise the newcomer and let out a mini exhalation, perking my eyebrows in appreciation.
“Morello cherry liquor.” She had the sharp features of a typically attractive girl from the Southern Med, dark skinned and black haired
with bits of red infused into it and all styled in a grungy look. She was wearing a white sleeveless vest and had tattoos of roses and mystical animals covering both forearms. I’d have put her at maybe a few years older than myself and definitely a looker in good physical shape. “I’m Neves.” She held out a hand and I took it.
“Oh, I know that one, it means snow, and I’m Freya.”
“You’re Nordic?”
“Not a terrible guess. My name certainly is of Nordic origin,” I nodded and felt her thumb stroking my hand, “but we Scots commandeered it.” I considered her for a second. “You’re understanding me ok? I don’t mean that as an insult but, you know, Scottish…” it came out as a babble and a Scottish babble at that but she grinned, still holding my hand.
She spoke softly because, I guessed, she could easily tell I was terrified. “You’re easier than that movie Trainspotting and don’t worry, I’m sure you’re not all like that.”
I laughed, half with relief and half because I was so nervous to be doing something like this whilst lamenting that even now, after all this time, people still thought of Trainspotting when hearing the word Scotland. Forget modern medicine, the inventor of television, the microwave and ATM, whisky, golf, bagpipes, tartan and caber tossing no, it’s all Trainspotting. Damn, I was really nervous.
The shots arrived and after clinking glasses, we sent them back.
“Well?” She looked at me with expectation.
I licked the residue from my lips, “absolutely delicious. I’ll be taking a bottle back for sure.”
She told the barman to keep them coming, a good idea. “So tell me, Freya, how is it that I’m able to find such an attractive young lady sitting all alone in a gay bar at this time of night?” If she’d thought I was some innocent foreigner who’d accidentally stumbled in and was looking for any sign of surprise on my part then she didn’t find it. Fear, perhaps, but not surprise.
“To be honest, I … I don’t know, I think I just felt compelled to have a look.” My seat was on a rotating axis and I felt just able to swivel it a few degrees towards her.