Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  “Miss, it’s not a prison,” he held his hands up defensively and his voice had taken on a higher pitch from before, “but we need to run a few checks, if you wouldn’t mind. You need to stay here for…”

  “But why? I haven’t even done anything.”

  “Yes, you said, please, don’t scream.” He cringed and managed to usher me into what had to be an interrogation room, which kind of looked like they did in the movies except they’d tried to make this place appear more comfortable, with magazines, a water dispenser and flatscreen TV that was running the BBC World Service with the volume muted. He asked for documentation and I angrily rustled through my bag for my passport before handing it over and dumping myself onto a seat. He closed the door on me and I was left alone in the small room.

  After an hour had passed, I began to feel foolish and regretted this daft escapade. What did I think would happen, really? Why would the government hand over the address of one of its people to some crazy outsider?

  After two hours the ceiling pattern was visible when I closed my eyes and I began to panic because it was late, I had no accommodation and could do nothing about finding any because they’d done something to block the phone signal in the room.

  There was little else to do other than ponder the reasons for my detainment and I reasoned it probably had something to do with Lizzie’s husband being in the army and they were paranoid about that kind of thing.

  The door opened, which brought me from my semi-slumber, and a man wearing khaki stepped inside. I sat up and blinked. “Uncle Paul?”

  He was holding my passport and grinned with those dispelling Celtic blue eyes of his, the type that always put you at ease, the sort you only found on Scottish men. “Trouble? So it really is you, I didn’t believe it but here you are.” He shot an angry glance through the opened door from where he came but before he could say anything to whoever was out there, I’d leapt up to throw my arms around him.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see a friendly face.” And my Uncle Paul was the friendliest.

  Uncle Paul wasn’t my real uncle, on account of neither my parents having any brothers, but he was the nearest thing I ever had. He was my dad’s best friend, having grown up and been in the army together and even after we were born, they were always around each other, either on the moors stalking, playing golf, drinking or making investments. Though because he was a captain in the army, we’d often go long periods without seeing him. Now, I surveyed his uniform and stopped at a badge on his arm that said Royal Gibraltar Regiment. His other arm possessed a gorget patch with the insignia of a major.

  “I see you’re going up in the world.” I was still grinning and knew without even having to ask that Uncle Paul would get me out of this place.

  He shook his head and mirrored my grin. “Trubbs, it would seem you’ve been on a bit of a road trip.” Either he’d been speaking to Dad or was privy to whatever checks security were making out there, not that I cared about such crap now.

  “Yes, I’ve had a wonderful time, not long enough though. I feel I need another three of the same to even scratch the surface.” I examined him from his now greying hair all the way to his boots that were so shiny they reflected the light from the ceiling. “I’m trying to think when it was I last saw you?”

  Instead of answering, he guided me by the shoulder toward the door. I knew he’d get me out. “Obviously, we have things to catch up on but not here, anywhere’s better than this depressing place.”

  He took me to a waiting army Land Rover, which was a thrill to be inside but unfortunately, it was now too dark to see Gibraltar or The Rock that dominated the territory like a freak that had no business being there.

  “Wee place, huh?” This was in reference to the fact we were pulling into a gated residential after only five minutes of movement. “Wee and densely populated … not much privacy.”

  “I bet you must really miss home?”

  His lips turned down, “aye.”

  The iron gate closed after us and although the communal area was clean, green and pleasant, if I’d had the impression my uncle, who’d come from wealth, would be living in luxury, that impression was soon changed.

  “Standard officer accommodation, I’m afraid, hence the security, but you’re most very welcome.” He slid a card through the reader, the door opened and as he led the way up a short flight of stairs, he began grinning like the monkey I’d seen on Main Street.

  “Are you ok?”

  He winked then pushed open the door and called into the flat, “just brought you a wee visitor.”

  I instinctively turned back to check if he was speaking to me but there were blurred shapes moving in my periphery and when I whipped back, there was a woman kneeling on the floor beside a child, both swamped in a large pile of building blocks scattered over the carpet.

  I stopped mid-step and froze, my sister was doing the same, my hand rose to my mouth, she yelped, “I can’t believe…” we said together and then she jumped up and we embraced as my skin tingled and neither of us could speak. She clasped me tight whilst, over her shoulder, my nephew hit bricks against the TV remote.

  “I’ll put the bairn to bed whilst you two catch up,” Paul said from somewhere. Oh, I wanted nothing more than to know all about the wee bairn.

  I was an aunt!

  * * *

  “It was Uncle Paul all along?” I asked, still ignoring the haggis, neeps and tatties on the plate. I missed this food but was far too excited to eat now.

  Uncle Paul had been about to slice into his haggis but then landed back in his seat and folded his arms. “You mean, he never told you?”

  I shook my head and Lizzie sighed.

  “Oh, Dad.”

  There was silence after that, which gave me an opportunity to study my sister.

  Where I was a redhead, she’d inherited the generic Scotch ginger gene and despite living in the sun, she still had a pale complexion as expected. We both had similar green eyes and our mouths were also very alike, though where my nose was slim and straight, hers was turned up slightly. She had many more freckles than I did and over the last eight years, it appeared I’d gained a height advantage of around two inches. She’d attained a slightly rounder look overall, of course, giving birth would have something to do with that, though she most definitely looked good.

  Indeed, she was happy, and it wasn’t merely because she’d been surprised by my arriving out of nowhere. She hadn’t been the only one surprised and, not being quick to catch on, I’d wondered why Uncle Paul was taking the wee bairn to his room, having initially assumed he’d only driven me to Lizzie’s flat because he obviously knew where she lived. Only then had I seen the picture frames. The small flat was crammed with them and I still found myself glancing over at various spots where they were concentrated. Yes, they were happy.

  “That was four years ago.” Lizzie followed my line of sight to a large frame on the wall, of what looked like a market on an endless sea of wooden rafts. “Vietnam. I was pregnant at the time.”

  “I can see.” I indicated another because, having caught the travel bug, it looked like the kind of place I needed to be. “And that?”

  “That was the Norwegian coastal road, through the fjords. We camped in the most stunning scenery imaginable.”

  I could have wilted and almost regretted the direction we’d taken this trip but then instantly abandoned that idea, knowing I wouldn’t change anything for fear of never meeting Arwen.

  Above the fireplace, my eyes rested on a large framed portrait of the wee bairn, impossibly happy and innocent with those same Celtic blue eyes. “Your son looks very much like you, Uncle Paul.”

  He squeezed his wife’s hand, “thank God for that.”

  I snorted at my faux pas but knew he wouldn’t mind, I was still getting used to this. “At least now, after all this time, I know why Dad was so upset.”

  “Upset?” Lizzie brought her hands in, “if that’s what you want to call it.”

&nb
sp; I was starving so I ate the traditional Scottish meal Lizzie had hastily prepared. Haggis, neeps, which meant turnips and tatties, which were potatoes - Ah, Scottish cuisine but it was most suitable for tonight.

  “Tomorrow we’ll have to go on a hike up The Rock.” She suggested, cocking a subconscious eyebrow at Uncle Paul.

  He understood and jerked his chin toward the wee bairn’s door. “I’ll take him to the beach.”

  I wanted to spend time with my nephew but recognised that my sister and I most certainly had things to discuss. Oh God, but how would she take my news? I’d been so preoccupied with how Dad would react, I’d completely neglected Lizzie and had prepared nothing, no speeches or anything.

  “When did we last see each other?” I asked my sister, “wasn’t it the night before I returned to Fettes at the end of that summer?”

  She nodded, “the four of us went for an Italian meal, that new place we all wanted to try.”

  “It’s not there anymore.”

  She frowned at that but then her face filled with excitement. “Lachlan was being a pain that night, stealing my meatballs. I’ll never forget it.” Her hand moved atop my wrist. “How is he?”

  My head tilted, “same, as expected, sometimes easy, sometimes not, always an experience.”

  Her eyes shimmered and Paul rubbed her shoulder. She didn’t need to tell me how much she missed our brother and Paul looked down, mouth tightened, and I could only wonder how much he blamed himself for the entire predicament, for his wife being ostracised from her family, which was something I needed to know.

  “How did this happen?” I opened out my arms to encompass the two of them and if I’d expected any discomfort from the question, they displayed none.

  On the contrary, they gazed at each other and immediately, I could see it. They looked at each other the way I looked at Arwen. Were they such an unlikely pairing? Just because of the age gap? My sister was twenty-six, Uncle Paul in his late fifties and sure, it was unusual but not really.

  “Growing up, I always felt close to Paul,” Lizzie began, “as I know you did too but that doesn’t mean anything inappropriate happened but try telling that to Dad.”

  “Ah, now I’m beginning to understand.” I noticed Paul was sitting with his chin up, maintaining my eye contact.

  Lizzie shrugged, “it wasn’t planned or anything. You were at boarding school and I went down south to visit Heather at uni.” She smiled at her husband. “Paul was on leave and it was an honest chance encounter in the street, he bought me lunch and after a year of not seeing him, things were different.” She looked at me with deliberation. “Freya, I was eighteen.” She was about to continue and Paul, seeing how difficult it was for her, took up where she left off.

  “Gus accused me of grooming.” He said as a matter of fact.

  “Which is complete fucking bullshit.” Lizzie snapped and then peered at the bedroom door as though fearing she’d disturbed her son.

  I nodded, “of course, it’s bullshit.” And it was.

  “But try telling that stubborn man,” she put in. “If anything, it was I who seduced him,” she jerked her head sidewards, “and only after I became an adult.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Oh, Freya, he said some bloody hurtful things.”

  “He accused me of always being attracted to his daughters.” He was trying to remain strong for Lizzie’s benefit but the sadness in his voice was easy to detect.

  Lizzie hooked a hand around his arm. “Paul is a good man. Would I still be with him, a beautiful child, married, if I’d been groomed? No, he just wanted me to marry someone my own age, which I can understand, but we can’t help who we fall in love with.”

  “Right.” I nodded vigorously, understanding that completely. Everything now made sense. Dad had interfered in my own relationship to its detriment. When would he learn?

  But what I saw here was love, real love. It was just so tragic they’d both had to lose so much for it.

  Lizzie’s head was buried in the crook of Paul’s neck as he rubbed her back and he now spoke to me over her shoulder. “There’s not much room in Gibraltar so I’ll take the couch tonight, you can share the bed with your sister.”

  And so, after finally discovering the truth, I went to sleep in peace.

  * * *

  “It’s the only place in Europe that has monkeys.” Lizzie breathed heavily as she climbed the steps that ascended The Rock.

  I’d already taken about a hundred photos. “They’re everywhere.”

  She put her arm across the front of my body and we stopped because not far ahead, a tourist had just lost her camera to one particularly cheeky monkey, and it quickly ran and clambered up a tree from where it began banging it against a branch.

  I laughed but Lizzie didn’t find it funny, the dour Scot.

  “Be careful with your phone and any other valuables because they’ll have them.”

  “Lizzie, I don’t think I could ever get bored of living here.”

  She released her arm and we set off again. “Well, you’re welcome to visit anytime you like.”

  “Right, I will do my best but I have…” I almost said residency but then remembered I’d recently changed my life plans, “work,” I said instead.

  She didn’t pick up on my discomfort or if she did she didn’t mention it, which preceded a few minutes of silence, though that was mostly because Lizzie wasn’t finding the climb as easy as I was. “You know,” she panted, “there’s twice the length of tunnels than roads in Gibraltar, and they’re all under this rock.”

  “I remember reading there are war tunnels and a reservoir in it somewhere.”

  The steps phased into a dirt path, thick with bushes, which unfortunately obscured the view of Morocco across the Med, not to mention Spain over the other side. We’d already been walking for an hour and for the most part, the path was gradual and easy.

  Lizzie took a sip of water and batted at a fly. “I see you decided to go straight to the office of the Chief Minister yesterday. It must have been a shock when Paul arrived.”

  I laughed and recalled the memory with fondness. “A lucky first port of call. I would have gone to the police after that and eventually resorted to asking strangers in the street. Luckily Paul spared me all of that and yes, it was a very pleasant shock.”

  “Not the only shock, right?” She remarked in an even tone and because I assumed she meant the shock of seeing her, there was no need to answer.

  Instead, I asked my own obvious question. “Why was I detained? All I did was mention your name. Has Spain’s proximity really made everyone around here so paranoid?”

  She stared blankly at me. “You really don’t know? Oh wow.”

  I slowed down and touched her arm. “That sounded a little ominous. Know what?”

  She held out a palm, “we had a visit from your ex. Gable, was it?” Oh shit. “His friend too and a girl.”

  I stopped and wasn’t completely sure I’d heard right. “You had a visit from Gabe? Wait … if I couldn’t find you, how the bloody hell did he?”

  Her forehead creased as she took a breath. “A good question and the answer is they were arrested in the town centre for fighting.”

  “Jesus Christ!” I covered my face and groaned into my hands.

  She gave me a mild disapproving frown, just subtle enough to notice because obviously, I made terrible choices in men. If only she knew. But I didn’t want my sister thinking I’d turned out to be such a terrible judge of character. Oh Gabe, what happened to you? I was about to make an emotional outburst in my defence but she was too quick to continue with the story.

  “Your ex-boyfriend, Gable Shoesmith, made a bit of a nuisance of himself, got drunk and fought in the street, was arrested, spent several nights in detention and all the while kept requesting to see a Lizzie Argyle, my maiden name.”

  “I remember it,” I said dryly.

  “And my guess is that your mentioning of that name prompted a response from the authorities because it was all
still so fresh in their heads.”

  My ex must have left an impression but there was something potentially important I needed to know at once. “How fresh?”

  She shrugged and her eyes snapped up, “five weeks? Or thereabouts.” Which thankfully meant he’d be long gone by now.

  I sighed, “my detainment was a precaution then. See … I’m really not a criminal.” Though I couldn’t speak for some of my former acquaintances. “You met him?” I almost feared to ask because I couldn’t imagine what state he must have been in.

  She barked. “Are you crazy?” And there was another disapproving look from big sister. “Paul wouldn’t allow that but he went instead, and my husband has ways of getting to the bottom of the matter.” Whilst doubtless implying he should stop requesting to see his wife.

  “I’m sure he has.”

  “He’s protective over his family.”

  “As he should be.”

  Now she looked at me with something a little more friendly and smiled. “You tried to visit a few weeks earlier, didn’t you?”

  I nodded and blew out air, “yes, I’d wanted to come after Malaga,” and then I realised that would mean nothing to her, “which was probably around two months ago … you tend to lose track of what day it is when you’re travelling.”

  “I bet. But you stole his car, or something,” bloody hell, “and I’m guessing he thought Gibraltar would have been your logical first stop on the run.”

  I put my hand on her elbow and we came to another halt, “ok, I have to stop you there, because I did not steal the car, I…” my head was throbbing from the exertion and the walking and the accusations and the half-truths and I needed water, “first of all, it was a camper van and…”

  Another disapproving glance, I should keep a tally, “looks like someone’s gone completely off the rails.”

  My arms just fell limp and so I shut my eyes, counted to ten and decided to let the camper van issue go, to keep the peace, to keep moving, because she hadn’t even heard the best part yet, or had she? Gabe, as it transpired, had a loose tongue and was likely trying to destroy me but I did count myself extremely lucky not to have been around when he was. He’d evidently travelled straight to Gibraltar from Lisbon, that camper would have been extremely conspicuous in such a small place, and it was hard to imagine what state of mind he must have been in. I didn’t feel good about it, of course not, but neither was it easy to feel sympathy for Gabe after he’d been fighting yet again.