by Sally Bryan
“Have you got any more of that water?” I asked.
She handed over the bottle. “I was very sorry to have missed you,” she surprised me by changing tone, “I thought we might have missed the only chance we’d ever have and it made me cry, I must admit.” She took the bottle back and stuffed it in her bag. “So, is this Arwen character your girlfriend?”
I stumbled on the flat surface. “Shit! You know?”
She shifted but then her face softened and she slid her arm inside mine. “Your ex was very keen to dirty your name to anyone who’d listen.”
Did that mean Dad knew too? Or did Gabe fear him too much to risk it? Or perhaps he wanted to hold that one thing back to blackmail me with later? Or was I thinking too much into it?
“Bloody hell,” I said under my breath.
“It’s true then, Freya?” Her tone was absolutely disapproving.
“Yes it’s true, I’ve met a wonderful woman and I’m in love with her.” I tried to meet her eyes but it was she who couldn’t bring herself to look at me. It was understandably something to get used to.
She shook her head, “Dad’s really gonna love this news.”
I laughed at that. “An understatement and I’m happy to take the pressure off you. In fact, you never know, after hearing about me, he’ll probably come to you himself.”
We’d reached the summit and the world opened out to reveal the Mediterranean reflecting the sun and beyond, the Atlas Mountains of Morocco that appeared almost close enough to touch.
She turned me suddenly around by the arm, forgetting the view. “Freya, is there anything you can do to facilitate a reunion? Please? Anything at all? I miss him, Lachlan, you, home. I just want the suffering to stop. Please.”
* * *
“I didn’t believe it at first and why would I? It came amidst this car stealing thing, not to mention a tonne of other accusations, cheating, drugs, a gambling addiction?” She reeled that last one off whilst subconsciously leaning away from me, as though it was so much worse than stealing, cheating and drugs but I knew it was because she’d been around when our mother had succumbed to the casino slot machines and the thought that her little sister had been doing the same must have been particularly horrifying. Gabe had unknowingly touched a nerve with that one.
My head was spinning as I found it hard to enjoy the traditional English sausage and mash we were eating in a pub after the long hike. “Lizzie, you know bloody well I would never ever even think about gambling.” I squeezed the knife obscenely hard because Gabe had been the one gambling that night I left him. Accuse the other side of that which you are guilty.
“The drugs are true then?” She asked in a high-pitched squeal.
I exhaled and kept a level tone, yet still had to raise my voice above the ringing of fruit machines and the blare of a football match playing on a large flatscreen attached to the far wall where a small crowd had gathered. “Of course.” And when she physically jolted, I knew I couldn’t continue with the joke, funny as it might have been, “I was taking ibuprofen for a stiff neck and headaches.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that, but after a short while nodded, evidently believing me. Stick one truth in with a bunch of lies and the whole package tends to get believed.
“Please tell me Uncle Paul didn’t believe any of this slander?”
“Paul just rolled his eyes and dismissed the guy as some jealous ex who was taking a break up extremely bad, then told the police to release him when he’d calmed down and was no longer a danger to himself and others in the territory.” She laughed nervously, “I mean, the guy had travelled all the way from Lisbon to find you.” She cast me a disapproving eye as she used her fork to further smush up her mash. “How long were the two of you together?”
“Five years,” I said flatly, knowing she’d be judging me again, “but he was never like…” I gave up, what was the use. Truthfully, it was a relief to have been having the time of my life in Southern France, as well as a bunch of other places, when Gabe had been shaming himself here. At the time it had never even occurred to me that he’d think to follow us to Gibraltar, that it was the logical place we’d go first. Thank God two girls on the run don’t think logically, necessarily, and had fled in the opposite direction completely. “Did you hear from him again?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “Nope.”
I breathed and relaxed, took a bite of sausage topped with caramelised onion and scooped in some mash and peas. It tasted better now.
Lizzie waited for a file of men holding pint glasses to pass our table. “Tell me about this Arwen person,” she pushed the sausages around on her plate, “I can understand wanting to dump this Gable idiot, but run away with a woman? Are you bloody serious?”
I’d never really known my sister as an adult and now I wondered if she was trying to take the position of mum, though of course, she cared about me. “Yes, I’m bloody serious, Lizzie. I love that girl more than anything.” I’d spoken the last three words slower as my eyes glazed over and my mind went into a small spasm for some totally unknown reason. I shook it away. “She’s absolutely the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“You don’t sound very sure. Is she good enough to throw away your career?” She sliced through her sausage so aggressively that the knife made a cringy screech against the plate. “Christ, Freya? You always wanted to be a bloody doctor, it was the most important thing in the world to you. Does she really mean so much you’d give that up just to pick bloody grapes? After having wasted five years of your life studying, no less. She must be bloody good in bed.” She was but I wouldn’t say that. She continued, “I have to be honest because you’re my little sissy and I love you but it seems to me like you’ve been travelling a little too long and have lost your mind … you’ve literally run away with a bloody woman!”
If I’d thought our conversation on The Rock had settled it, I was wrong, in fact, now she knew it hadn’t just been Gabe spreading bullshit, it appeared she’d used the entire descent to come up with a whole bunch of reasons to talk me out of it, to make me see sense.
In my paranoia, I briefly surveyed the near vicinity for eavesdroppers and spoke in a low voice in the hope she’d simmer down. “You know, Lizzie, that’s exactly how it seemed to us when you ran away with your lover. For years, I thought you’d lost your mind and made a stupid irrational decision without putting any thought into it.” When she had no response to that, and because I was too nice, I decided to save her from answering by referring to her earlier point, “and yes, I wanted to be a doctor but I really like working at the vineyard too and…”
“But Freya, you’re not even a lesbian,” she cut in, a little too loud, “don’t think I don’t remember that obsession you had with that actor … who was he?” Her eyes shot up and I decided to help her out.
“Ewan McGregor, the guy out of Trainspotting. Lizzie, he’s pretty famous.” I shuffled and peeped again around the near area.
“Right, I remember the posters and how you spent hours watching all his films, again and again, so don’t you tell me you’re one of those women who was born liking women because I know you’re not.”
“You’re not wrong, in fact, you’re correct, and I don’t consider myself a lesbian necessarily, but I am in a lesbian relationship with a woman I’m besotted with,” I’d again spoken the last few words slower, as I underwent another mind twitch. Had the hike slowed the blood flow to my head? I shook it away and tried to pick up where I left off but Lizzie was too quick to intervene.
“You don’t even sound convinced about being besotted with her.”
I slapped the table and because the knife was in my hand, the clang of metal on wood was unintentionally loud, “I really wish you could be supportive.” I knew I wasn’t doing a very good job fighting my corner but this was only a prelude of what was to come. How would I fare when confronted with Dad? Was I wrong to have expected that after all this time, Lizzie would be on my side from the start? The diff
erence was we were both adults now but she’d always be my big sister looking out for me and I knew she was only asking the hard questions because she cared.
She made a wavering smile, “have you,” she coughed, “can I see a picture?”
I smiled, “of course.” I showed her a photo of Arwen standing beside Michelangelo’s David in Florence and because we weren’t supposed to be taking photos in the museum, she looked particularly cheeky.
Lizzie shuffled and looked away. “She’s very pretty.”
“She is and thank you,” because I knew that must have been pretty hard for her to say.
She rubbed the back of her neck. “But she looks like a hippy. You can rely on that kind of a woman?”
I faced her straight on, “I can rely on Arwen and you’re right, she is a hippy and there’s not one thing I’d change about her.” Other than her not being here now.
She began to eat and a few minutes later said, “tell me about her.”
And so I did. I told Lizzie all about Arwen, her intellect, her life as a dancer, the languages she spoke, that she never stopped surprising and challenging me, her humour and warmth, her devilish mischievous streak, how we’d had the most magical time travelling through Europe and how we’d fallen in love in a Tuscan vineyard and by the end I hoped that if nothing else, Lizzie might understand, at least a little.
“And children?” She asked, almost managing to meet my eye.
I rubbed my chin and pretended to consider it. “You know, I’m not sure Arwen and I can have them, I learned that studying medicine.”
She just barely cut a smile, the dour Scot. “Don’t mess with me.”
I shrugged and thought about Dayna and Alessia. “There are ways but I’m only twenty-three.”
She rubbed her face, “well, I can tell you really are besotted with her. Maybe we’ll get to meet sometime.” Though she said it without much conviction.
Obviously, it was all quite difficult for Lizzie, in fact, I was sure she had no idea how to take any of it. She was only now learning her little sister wasn’t just messing around but was actually in a lesbian relationship and it was the real thing.
“I’m sorry if I sounded upset.” She said from across our empty plates.
My face softened, “it’s big news, I kind of understand.”
“And just so you know, it wasn’t an irrational decision I made with Paul. I loved him.”
I nodded, “I know now, and I love Arwen.”
It wasn’t that my sister had been impulsive and carefree growing up, it was more that it had appeared to everybody she’d made one impulsive, carefree and irrational decision and as a consequence had dismantled our entire family. But now I could see it was only as irrational as love itself. The truth was that like myself, Lizzie was a traditional girl in an untraditional relationship.
“You know,” I told her, “you haven’t really changed at all, you’re still so much like Dad.” Which made it all even more tragic. “And I promise to do my best to make him see sense.” I nodded for emphasis and meant my words, despite not knowing what I could possibly do.
“Thank you, I knew you would,” she stood and held out her arms for a hug and so I pulled out from my seat, stood and embraced my sister…
…as my eyes adjusted over her shoulder, three tables down, to the empty bottle of Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce.
I pulled away, wide-eyed and cold skinned.
“Freya?” She examined the area around us, “what is it?”
I was frantically scanning the room but there was no sign of them, any of them, and finally, I breathed and was able to laugh it away. It was a pub, they served food and kept bottles of the stupid sauce for people with acidic penchants. What’s more, it had been five fucking weeks, he wasn’t on this stupid rock.
“Nothing,” I rubbed her arm, “can we go see my nephew?”
That evening we did a few jigsaw puzzles and watched Peppa Pig whilst Paul worked his late shift. It was instant love with the little guy, who I was sure could recognise his mother in me and Lizzie said she’d always thought he resembled me more than anyone else, though in my opinion, apart from his red hair, he looked most like his father.
In the morning, after Paul had again left for work, I had to make a tearful goodbye for now, exchanging numbers with my sister, which seemed so strange, and crouching to embrace and kiss my nephew.
“From the town centre, there’s a shuttle to the airport at a quarter past every hour.” She wiped her eye and pulled her son off my leg.
I kissed them both again and tried to keep it together. “I can make the walk if I leave now. Oh God…”
“Stay in touch.”
“Of course, we’re sisters, and you’re welcome to visit us in Tuscany any time you want.” I hugged them both again and then I was out the door, walking down the steps, out the building, through the security gates and along a busy road that led into town.
Ten minutes later I was at the shuttle stop where an elderly couple and three solitary female travellers waited beside a stack of bags as the early morning sun cast their shadows far and dark across the pavement.
I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to conjure up images of my beautiful nephew and then, a minute later, Arwen pushed her way to the fore and I couldn’t help but grin stupidly, caring not one bit how I came across to the strangers gathered around. I pulled out my phone and flicked through our many photos, rode out the familiar rush of heat she always caused because she was mine, and lamented it was a mere two days short of ninety before I could be with her again.
A new shadow moved over me and I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.
“Hello, Doctor.”
* * *
If I’d thought, after seeing the stupid Lea & Perrins bottle, that coming face to face with Gabe in the street would leave me panicked then I was to be surprised. It seemed the thought of seeing him, after five weeks, was worse than the act itself but then, so far, I’d only been gaping at him for a matter of seven or eight seconds. Gabe didn’t scare me and he never would but I was still grateful not to be standing alone at the shuttle stop.
He was wearing the brown cargo shorts he’d donned through much of Western Europe, which were now severely frayed just above where they cut off at the knee, like he’d maybe scuffed them hard on the ground, or been dragged across it. His navy blue shirt was missing its top two buttons and his sleeves were rolled up, which was unlike him, and I wondered if that was to conceal any rips or torn fabric, indeed, his right elbow was badly grazed. He wore his flip flops, which had been a gift from me before the trip, and exposed a blackened nail on his big toe. The periorbital puffiness was prominent, like he wasn’t sleeping, though it might also have had much to do with his alcohol intake, because he reeked of it. His right eye was bloodshot and he wore a pair of glasses I didn’t recognise. He was also thinner than I’d ever seen him and his hair longer, though he’d managed to keep clean shaven, as though that was more important than showering, and his skin had flared again from mosquito bites.
“Surprised to see me, are you Doctor?” His eyes tracked over my face and ran down my body and only stopped when he unbalanced and had to reach out to steady himself against a rubbish bin.
There was no knowing how stunned I must have looked but considering everything, I was able to remain calm. “Gabe…” but what to say? How are you? What are you doing here? Nothing seemed apt for the moment.
He let go of the bin and came closer, flicking at my braid with a finger and sneering, “you look like someone but I can’t quite think who.”
“Gabe,” I finally managed to find my senses, “are you ok?”
He laughed with exaggeration and it came out more as a cackle. “Am I ok, she asks.” He rubbed his face as another two people arrived at the stop. “Do you really give a fuck whether I’m ok?”
“Gabe, I do, of course.” My eyes flicked up to the digital display over his shoulder, the one that showed how far away the shuttle
was. Three minutes. “Where’s Dan?”
His eyes had narrowed in scepticism when I’d told him I cared and they were still squinting now, but then the sun was bright behind me, which contributed, and doubtless he was also hungover. “Dan? Oh, Dan. You just missed him. He took a boat to Morocco about an hour ago. He’s banging Floor now.”
“Right, well, good for him,” please hurry up damn shuttle. “So, you’re here in Gibraltar … how are you finding it?”
“Fuck you!”
I jerked but remained placid. “I was only asking, Gabe. Did you get your passport?”
“My what?”
“Your passport. I mailed it to the hostel in Lisbon.”
“I got it.” He teetered briefly then brought himself back to equilibrium. “Are you going to tell me where you’re going?”
I gestured at the shuttle shelter we were both presently standing in and tried not to sound condescending, “to the airport.”
“I meant where fucking to,” he snapped, “and don’t play fucking dumb. You’re going somewhere to meet that bitch you’re fucking and don’t fucking lie to me,” he scratched again at one of the red splotches on his neck, “I already know she’s not here.”
From that, I gaged that he had been at the pub yesterday and decided not to ask if he’d followed me back to Lizzie’s and waited all evening and all night for the moment I left her flat alone. “Gabe, Arwen and I are living in Italy.” I decided to be as vague as possible with the location, naming only the country of sixty million souls in the hope that would be good enough. Thankfully, it was.