by Matt Dunn
‘They’re not! At least, I didn’t invite them.’
‘Well, I certainly didn’t.’
‘I didn’t say you did.’
‘On account of me not knowing what was—’
‘Jed! Just . . .’ Livia was giving him one of her looks again. ‘Don’t say anything!’
‘But . . .’ Jed stopped talking altogether, deciding to follow her advice. At least that way, he probably wouldn’t get into trouble. Besides, Livia was already waving at Sally, so any window of opportunity he’d had to try to talk about what was happening later looked like it had been rapidly slammed shut.
He sighed, reluctantly slid his breakfast plate away, swivelled round in his chair and fixed a smile on his face, while over at reception, Sally made the ‘oh my god!’ face, nudged her husband, and the three of them made their way through the doors towards their table. As the two women embraced and Livia planted a kiss on the child’s face – something Jed wouldn’t have dared to do, given the river of snot running from its nostrils – he reluctantly stood up.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Oliver, vigorously shaking Jed’s hand.
‘Isn’t it?’ said Livia, and Sally nodded.
‘What are you two doing here?’
Jed looked longingly down at his plate. ‘Having breakfast?’ he ventured.
‘No, I meant . . .’
‘Oh, here here?’ He looked at Livia, but when she didn’t prompt him, he just shrugged. ‘Oh, you know . . .’
‘Getting a weekend away in while you still can, before it all changes?’ suggested Sally.
‘Something like that,’ said Livia, shooting Jed a look at the sound of his audible swallow.
‘Lucky buggers,’ said Oliver, and Sally made a face, so Jed nodded at the pile of luggage Oliver had just deposited on the floor. ‘You guys staying a while?’
‘Just tonight.’
When Oliver didn’t continue, Jed frowned. ‘But you look like you’ve packed for a month.’
‘You have so much to learn!’ Oliver laughed, and patted the large canvas case by his feet. ‘Travel cot – Barney won’t sleep in any other bed apart from that, and if Barney doesn’t sleep, then neither do we! Then there are clothes, of course, plus spares for all of us in case of any accidents, plus nappies for the little one, even though we’re potty training him at the moment. Oh, and his travel potty. And his stroller. Bloody ironic name, because he just wants to run everywhere at the mo . . . Hold on.’
Sally had put Barney down on the floor, and as if on cue, he’d sprinted unsteadily off towards the buffet, so Oliver set off after him, returning after a moment holding the red-faced child upside down. ‘Now Barney,’ he said, patiently. ‘What have we told you about running . . . Ow!’
‘Barney,’ said Sally, in a less-understanding tone – and one Jed recognised from whenever Livia addressed Liam. ‘What have we told you about biting?’
Oliver was rubbing a spot on his thigh – Jed could see the outline of tiny teeth on the fabric of his trousers, accentuated by a double snot-smear – while Barney stared demonically up at him.
‘Say sorry to Daddy,’ ordered Sally, as Oliver lowered him to the floor.
‘No!’ shouted Barney.
‘Barney?’
‘No!’
‘Barney!’
‘No!’
‘Say sorry, or you’ll go in the naughty corner!’
‘No!’ shouted Barney, even louder than before.
‘Right,’ said Sally, reaching down to grab him, but Barney was too quick for her, darting off in the opposite direction towards the pool, and as she set off in pursuit, Oliver gave Jed an earnest look.
‘In a few months, he’ll be just tall enough that his teeth will be level with the old chap,’ he said, pointing down at his privates. ‘I’m not looking forward to that day, I can tell you.’
Jed glanced out to the pool, where Sally had managed to catch Barney and seemed to be having some stern words with him. To her credit, Livia seemed a bit shocked by the whole series of events, though Jed knew he could hardly bring this up in conversation later. It was a little too late, after all. About six months too late, in fact.
‘I’m sure it’s just a phase,’ suggested Livia, and Oliver nodded.
‘As long as it doesn’t last the full eighteen years.’ Then he leant across to Jed. ‘Three words: Never. Have. Kids,’ he said, under his breath, and glanced theatrically at Livia’s stomach. ‘Oh, sorry. Too late.’ He burst out in maniacal laughter, and Jed nervously joined in. ‘Hey, don’t mind me. I’m sure yours will be different . . .’
Sally was bringing the slightly calmer child back, and as she set him down on the floor between them all, Jed felt a tugging on his trouser leg. ‘Hello, Barney,’ he said, crouching to Barney’s level, trying not to think about whatever the substance was that had left visible fingerprints on his chinos. ‘How are you . . . ?’
‘Cock-up!’
Jed stood up quickly and instinctively covered his groin with his hands, and Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘He means “yoghurt”. He can’t get enough of the stuff. Apparently, it’s like crack cocaine, but for kids. Though I’ll tell you, the amount that comes back out again, it’d be cheaper to scoop it up and just repackage it. And as for the amount of wet wipes we get through as a result . . .’ He sighed. ‘I wish I had shares in Andrex. Could afford a bloody nanny then. Spare ourselves all this . . .’
‘We better feed him,’ said Sally, ominously, and Jed frowned.
‘Or?’
He’d asked the question automatically, partly interested in case the answer might come in useful in the future, but Oliver’s horrified expression made him instantly regret it.
‘You don’t want to know. May I?’ he said, pointing at Jed’s unopened pot of yoghurt on the table.
‘Be my guest.’
Oliver picked up the yoghurt in one hand and Barney in the other, and to another full-volume cry of ‘Cock-up!’ sat the child down to feed him.
‘So!’ Sally smiled at the two of them, as if what they’d just witnessed was what passed for normal in her world, though to Jed’s horror, he realised it probably was. ‘What are you guys up to today? Anything special?’
‘Not really,’ said Livia, quickly. ‘You?’
‘Oliver’s taking Barney to the aquarium.’
‘He likes fish?’
‘He likes a fish. N-E-M-O, to be precise’ said Oliver. ‘He’s watched it enough times. And someone’ – he gave Sally a look – ‘promised him the aquarium was where N-E-M-O lived.’
‘So you’re taking Barney to “find” him?’ Livia broke into a broad grin. ‘How lovely!’
‘I bloody hope so,’ said Oliver. ‘Otherwise that little meltdown will be nothing compared to what will happen.’
‘You not going?’ Livia asked Sally.
She shook her head frantically. ‘I’ve got one thing on my mind, and that’s sleep,’ she said, with the same relish a drug user might exhibit when talking about an upcoming fix. ‘Hey, maybe we could meet up later, if you’re not . . . ?’
‘Well, we’re . . .’ Livia was looking at him, her mouth flapping like the aforementioned fish, and Jed let her suffer for a second or two, then he nodded.
‘It’s kind of our . . .’
‘Yes, our . . .’
‘Anniversary,’ said Jed, quickly, slipping an arm around Livia’s shoulders. ‘So we’ve got, you know . . .’
‘Plans,’ said Livia.
‘Yes. Plans,’ confirmed Jed.
‘Later,’ said Livia.
Sally was looking from one of them to the other, as if sitting by the net at a tennis match. ‘Right,’ she said, followed by: ‘Ri-ight. Say no more.’ She winked at Livia, who took it as a cue to snake an arm around Jed’s waist. A little too tightly for his liking. ‘I’d be doing the same if I were you,’ she said, then she leaned in close and lowered her voice. ‘Though that kind of thing’s a distant memory for the two of us.’
‘’Specially when you’re worried you might end up with another one of these,’ interrupted Oliver from the table, where he seemed to be wearing the best part of the pot of yoghurt. ‘Isn’t that right, Barney?’
‘Cock-up!’ said Barney, hammering delightedly on the table with his spoon.
‘Right. Well, we’d better leave you two lovebirds . . .’ Oliver stood up, lifted Barney onto his shoulders and stared pointedly at Sally. ‘Shall we?’
Sally smiled. ‘You don’t want to borrow a child for the day?’
‘I’ve already got one, thanks,’ said Livia, squeezing Jed even tighter, though it took him a second to realise she perhaps wasn’t referring to the baby in her belly.
‘Oh well. Worth a try!’ Sally hoisted up as many of their bags as she could manage, leaving Oliver to struggle with Barney and the rest. ‘Well, have fun!’
‘While you still can . . .’ said Oliver with a wink, before leading his wife and son away.
Jed checked his chair for yoghurt, then sat back down and watched the three of them stride into the nearest lift. As the shell-shocked occupants hurried out, quite possibly due to the piercing scream Barney had just emitted, Livia sighed. ‘Well, we seem to have got away with it.’
‘Don’t you think they might be a bit suspicious when they see us getting married later?’
‘Jed, the ceremony’s at six. Barney will be in bed by then. By the looks of things, Oliver and Sally probably will be too. And they certainly won’t be able to leave the room.’
‘What on earth did they come away for then?’ he asked, but Livia was too busy pointedly checking the time, so instead he poured himself another coffee, then looked up sharply at Livia’s harrumph. ‘What?’
She tapped the face of her watch impatiently. ‘Could you just get a move on, please?’
‘What for?’
‘I told you. We’ve got something to do. In town.’
‘Something to do?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
Jed raised both eyebrows. ‘Another one?’ he said. ‘Haven’t I even got time to enjoy my breakfast?’
‘You’re the one who took ages out on your run this morning. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.’
Jed did his best to keep his expression as impassive as possible, sure Livia could tell that the thought had crossed his mind and that seeing Oliver and Sally had brought it front and centre again.
‘I got lost.’
Livia reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Well, don’t make a habit of it.’
Jed opened his mouth to protest, then he bit off his reply. Something he suspected he might be doing a lot more of as the day went on.
Patrick grimaced at a loudly snoring Liam, who’d fallen asleep, face down, in the direct sun. ‘I hope he’s got some sunblock on?’
‘Oh yes.’ Izzy shielded her eyes as she looked up at him. ‘I made sure of it.’
‘Good,’ said Patrick, though he wasn’t quite sure how to take that. ‘Well, have I got a surprise for you . . .’
‘A surprise?’
Patrick couldn’t keep the grin from his face, though Izzy didn’t appear to be particularly enthusiastic about being disturbed from her sunbathing.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘A Livia-type surprise?’
‘Well, no . . .’ spluttered Patrick, and Izzy laughed.
‘And that surprise is?’
‘We’re going on a tour.’
‘Of Barcelona?’
‘No, the lost city of Atlantis. Of course Barcelona.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on. You can’t come all the way to somewhere like this and not see the sights.’
‘I saw the sights,’ said Izzy, flatly. ‘From the plane.’
‘I mean actually see them. The architecture. Some street life. Take in a bit of the atmosphere.’
Izzy adjusted the straps of her bikini, careful to avoid tan lines. ‘I’ve been taking in the atmosphere.’
‘Not just the sun. Barcelona has a really cool vibe to it. El Born, El Raval, the Gótico, Barceloneta . . .’ Patrick counted off the districts on his fingers. ‘Then there’s Gaudí’s Park Güell, and of course the Sagrada Família. Which I’m pretty familia with . . .’ He leant over and nudged Izzy, though if she got his joke, she didn’t let on. ‘There’s an exhibition on at the Picasso Museum. His Blue Period. Or we could stop for some lunch at this restaurant I know on the beach . . .’ At the mention of the word ‘beach’, Izzy perked up a little, so Patrick decided to seize the momentum. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said, taking her by the hand and helping – well, almost dragging – her up off the sun lounger.
Izzy gave him a look that suggested she doubted it. ‘Okay, okay.’
She slipped her dress on over her bikini, and Patrick had to stop himself from clapping his hands in anticipation. ‘Great!’
‘We don’t have to walk, do we?’ she said, wriggling her feet into her sandals.
‘Chauffeur-driven.’
‘Chauffeur-driven?’
Izzy had widened her eyes, though they narrowed rapidly once Patrick led her outside and across to the other side of the street, where a small, bright yellow, open-topped three-wheeler was parked in front of the hotel.
‘Ta-da!’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s called a GoCar.’
‘It’s hardly the Porsche, is it?’
‘No, but it’s the best way to see the city.’
‘If you’re five years old, perhaps,’ she huffed. ‘It looks ridiculous. And so will I.’
‘You’re much too beautiful to look ridiculous. Besides, nobody will care what you look like.’
He handed her a crash helmet in a matching yellow, and Izzy regarded it suspiciously. ‘I’m not wearing that.’
‘Why not?’
‘My hair?’
‘It’ll get even more messed up if you don’t. Especially if we hit something.’
Izzy gave him a look, as if that was exactly what she was considering doing, then with an exaggerated sigh she strapped the helmet on and climbed reluctantly into the passenger seat.
‘Thank you,’ said Patrick, jumping in next to her. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘Great,’ he said again, although slightly less confidently than before.
He hit the start button, and they set off along the road in the buzzy little vehicle, heading through the Gótico, along cobbled lanes and dark passageways that just oozed history. Patrick felt in his element, enjoying the sensation of whizzing along the city’s narrow streets, though when he grinned across at Izzy, she seemed to be more interested in examining her nails. He shook his head as he steered them towards the port, then he reached down and pressed a button on the dashboard.
‘On your right’ – a tinny, robotic female voice had begun blaring out of the satnav, making Izzy jump – ‘you’ll see the famous statue of Christopher Columbus. It stands at the bottom of Las Ramblas, Barcelona’s most famous thoroughfare, lined with flower stalls, restaurants and street performers, which – rather than being just one street, as most visitors think – is actually a series of roads . . .’
‘Can’t we turn that off?’ she huffed.
‘Would you rather I told you what everything . . . ?’ Izzy silenced him with a look, and Patrick sighed as he hit the mute button. ‘That’s the whole point of this thing. We drive around, the GPS tells it where we are, and it tells us what we’re looking at.’
‘It’s bad enough that I’ve had you doing that since we got here.’
Izzy had stretched out in her seat, lifting her dress to her thighs to expose as much flesh as possible to the sun, and while he’d normally enjoy such a sight, Patrick felt his anger rise.
‘You could show some enthusiasm for one of my favourite places, rather than simply treating this as some mobile tanning opportunity.’
He’d snapped at her, and Izzy jerked back upright, as if she’d been told off by a te
acher at school, and Patrick wondered whether he’d pay for that later. But then he thought, What the hell. He was paying for everything else.
He reached down and reactivated the navigation, then steered the GoCar towards the west of the city, Izzy doing her best to appear interested in what she evidently thought were just lumps of concrete rather than some of the world’s most influential architecture. After an uncomfortable few minutes, they pulled up at a red traffic light in front of a huge, intricately decorated, circular building.
‘In front of you, you’ll see Barcelona’s old bullring,’ the satnav informed them. ‘This used to be a hub of entertainment until bullfighting was banned in Catalonia. Today it’s a shopping centre, where some of the world’s premier brands have outlets . . .’
Too late, Patrick reached for the mute button again, but despite them being in the middle lane, Izzy was already climbing out of the GoCar’s cockpit. As she pulled her helmet off and shook her hair free, he frowned up at her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m sorry, baby, but I didn’t come to Barcelona to be ferried around in something that sounds like a broken lawnmower, and with a bad Doctor Who villain blaring in my ear, just to look at a succession of stuffy old buildings.’
What did you come here for, then? Patrick wanted to ask. Though he suspected he might not like the answer if he did. ‘Izzy, they’re hardly stuffy . . .’
‘They’re buildings, Patrick. Old ones too. We should be doing stuff. Not just seeing stuff.’
‘Seeing stuff is doing stuff.’
‘Maybe.’ Izzy looked at him for a moment. ‘Here,’ she said, passing him her helmet, then she nodded towards the satnav. ‘Sounds like you and her have a lot more in common.’
‘Izzy, wait . . .’
‘No, honestly . . .’ she said, as if she was doing him a favour. ‘I’ll see you back at the hotel.’
‘Izzy!’ he shouted, but the lights had changed and she was already skipping through the slowly moving line of cars to their right. ‘How will you find your way . . . ?’ Patrick stopped talking. It was doubtful she could hear him above the noise of the traffic – doubtful Izzy was even listening, in fact.
As she strode purposefully off towards the shopping centre, he sat there, dumbfounded, until an impatient beeping from the car behind snapped him out of his mood. He peered around anxiously for a parking spot, intending to abandon the GoCar and chase after her, but he was too late. Izzy had already disappeared into the crowds thronging towards the bullring.