‘I didn’t realise there would be food stalls, too,’ Debbie said.
‘Yes, I wish we hadn’t just eaten,’ said Lisa glumly.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be able to fit in a few tapas later. We just need to stay until it shuts,’ Angela said.
They bought two books of tapas tickets because they didn’t want to have to queue later, and six books of tickets between them for drinks. Each book contained ten tickets. Stalls generally offered drinks worth two, three or four tickets. The number of tickets required directly correlated with the quality of the wine or cava.
The whole area was packed, with parents with children, toddlers and even babies in buggies.
‘The Spanish way of life is certainly different, all right,’ Debbie nudged Gill. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking Olivia to a wine festival.’
‘Maybe you would if you lived in a climate like this,’ Gill said, as she watched a group of children playing. ‘The kids are all having fun, dipping their toes in the water next to the boats.’
As the girls searched for a good stall to start at, a gap opened up in one of the queues and they darted in there.
‘Let’s face it, none of us knows that much about wine. As long as it’s not a sweet, dessert wine, we’ll be OK,’ said Lisa.
The others recognised the truth in this and piled in behind her. Lisa also suggested they start with the cheaper wine first, as, if they started with the classy stuff, everything else would taste awful afterwards.
Taking on board her advice yet again, the girls accepted the glasses of white wine which the patron offered them. They took a sip then Angela said, ‘Made with Xarel-lo grapes.’
Lisa took a large gulp, ‘It’s not bad this, for two tickets.’
Indeed it was quite pleasant. But they had another seventy stalls to get round. The girls worked their way through some cava from Penedès then moved on to albariño from Galicia and grenache from La Rioja. Whether wisely or not they were heading for a fifth glass, this time red, when Debbie, ever the voice of reason, said, ‘I think we should use those food tokens now.’ Agreeing that they needed some sustenance to mop up the intake of liquid over the last few hours, the girls queued at separate stands for food. They came back with a platter of aged cheeses; a few varieties of cooked ham, excluding the expensive Iberico ham; some boles de picolat - spicy meatballs and olives in a rich spicy sauce, and a couple of polystyrene bowls of chicken and chorizo casserole. Struggling to balance all of these, luckily they found a table. True to Spanish style, the wine festival was not decked out with tables and chairs. Instead, it was like at a bar, where you stood to eat and drink. About ninety percent of people didn’t even have a table, and instead balanced their plates on their arms or shovelled forkfuls into their mouths, whilst hanging onto their plates, as passers-by bumped into them.
‘This is delicious,’ pronounced Angela, who had fallen on the chicken and chorizo casserole instantly. Sharing with Debbie, she had to hold back not to devour the lot, it was so good. ‘Debbie, you have to taste this, seriously, before I finish it,’ Angela proffered the bowl to her, interrupting Debbie spearing a piece of jamón Serrano.
‘What?’ Debbie stopped with the fork half way to her mouth.
‘Try this,’ she said.
Debbie, rested her fork on the plate again, dipped her spoon into the casserole and took some of the meat and liquid. ‘Oh wow, that’s incredible.’
‘Told you,’ said Angela smiling.
The girls chatted and ate their tapas, whilst people watching and commenting on the talent around the marina.
‘Why are Spanish men so much fitter looking than Scottish men?’ Lisa asked.
‘Fitter as in sportier, or as in better looking?’ Angela asked.
‘Both.’
‘I reckon it’s just the tan, maybe the outdoor lifestyle. The weather’s too miserable back home to be outdoors much,’ Debbie put in.
‘Hear, hear,’ said Gill. ‘But to be honest, I don’t really go in for dark or tanned men. I like them a bit…’
‘Pasty?’ Lisa offered.
‘No.’
‘Milk-bottle white?’ suggested Angela.
‘No!’
‘I think what Gill is trying to say is she likes them pale and interesting, like Anton for example. Isn’t that right?’ Debbie cut in.
Blushing at the mention of Anton and at the thought of what had happened between them, Gill managed to squeak, ‘Yes, that’s about it.’
‘If we’re going to chat about men, I definitely need another drink,’ said Lisa. Who’s coming with me?’
Angela followed Lisa in her quest to procure wine for the four of them. So far they had tried everything except red, so after a little deliberation, they opted for a light and fruity Tempranillo.
‘Not bad that,’ said Lisa, taking a sip as they made their way back. Pity we’ve only got one ticket left each. Not sure if I can be bothered queuing up again. Look at the amount of people now.’
Angela turned towards the ticket booths. True enough, the lines were enormous. Droves of people still swarmed into the festival area, keen to sample the best of Spain’s wine and cava.
As they rejoined the others, Lisa passed a glass to Gill, ‘Here, get that down your neck.’
‘It’s not a shot you know!’ Angela said in frustration. ‘You’re meant to take your time with it.’
‘Actually, I suppose you’ve got a point. We’ve only got enough tickets left for one drink each.’
‘Exactly, so let’s make the most of this one.’
After their final glass of wine, the girls felt surprisingly OK, tipsy, but not drunk. The tapas must have bolstered them. They decided to walk back to the hotel, and followed the hundreds of people flowing back in the direction of the Ramblas. Saturday night in Barcelona was party night. Usually young Catalans going clubbing didn’t even venture out until midnight, but because of the Mercè and the wine festival, they were already out in force.
‘We’re not seriously going back to the hotel are we? It’s only ten o’clock,’ wailed Lisa.
‘No, but let’s just head this way and find somewhere to go,’ Gill coaxed her friend.
As the girls turned onto la Rambla de Santa Mònica, they realised the walk was a little further than they had originally thought.
Finally they reached Liceu metro and nipped into Plaça Reial to have a coffee. Fortunately, the majority of the population of Barcelona didn’t fancy anything as tame as sitting in Plaça Reial, on the Saturday of the Mercè. Although it was still busy, Plaça Reial was rarely empty; they found seats and soon relaxed, sipping their café con leche. They watched the comings and goings for a while, relaxing in the balmy September evening. A light breeze had picked up and eventually the girls declared they’d had enough for one day and prepared to leave.
As they passed under the archway leading out of the plaça, an English voice halted them in their tracks.
‘Excuse me. Are you ladies going clubbing?’ a man of around Gill’s age asked them.
‘We weren’t planning to,’ said Gill.
‘Do you know anywhere good to go?’ asked his friend.
‘As you’ve probably guessed, we aren’t locals,’ said Lisa.
‘Oh I could tell that straightaway. I love the Glasgow accent.’
Yorkshire. Clitheroe, Leeds, somewhere like that, Gill tried to place the accent.
They stood and chatted with the men for ten minutes or so, alcohol enabling them to speak to complete strangers, with few inhibitions.
‘Right, got to run, boys,’ said Lisa, noting a look from Debbie, and seeing that Gill was shivering a little. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘But we were just getting to know you,’ protested the one who had initially approached them.
‘Well, weren’t you the lucky ones then,’ Lisa’s cheek knew no bounds and, impertinent as ever, she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips.
‘Something to remember me by,’ and she danced away to
join her friends.
Chapter Thirty
Sunday 25th September
‘I can’t believe how forward you are sometimes,’ Gill told Lisa next day.
‘What you talking about?’ Lisa said distractedly.
‘That guy last night.’
‘Oh him! Just a bit of fun. Made his night.’
‘Lise, you should have been born a man.’
‘Where would be the fun in that? Women have the upper hand.’
Shaking her head at her friend’s attitude, Gill drained the last of her coffee. Lisa was dying to go to the beach, but the Castellers event was due to start at two o’clock in Plaça Sant Jaume. Four teams attempting to build the highest human pyramid – a definite must-see of the festival.
Since cafés tended to open later on Sundays, around eleven, the girls had opted for a lie-in. Just as well, as there were even fewer places open due to the festival. As the girls strolled along the Ramblas, it struck them how eerily quiet it seemed; all remnants of the party atmosphere from the night before long gone. The street cleaners had obviously sprung into action straightaway, as everything was spotless – typical Catalan efficiency.
The girls had the bright idea of hopping on the metro and choosing a destination at random, far from the tourist trail. Arriving at Jaume I metro station, Angela said, ‘What about Maresme Forum? Sounds Roman, ‘forum’?’
The others willingly accepted her suggestion, happy to kill a few hours exploring another part of the city. Seven stations later the girls exited Maresme Forum into a relatively unassuming neighbourhood. Concrete apartment blocks towered above them. Gill and Debbie exchanged a look. Had they come to possibly the worst part of Barcelona? Compared to this place, the Ramblas had been a hive of activity. Gill wondered if it was like this every Sunday, or if the Catalans were sleeping off their hangovers. Who knew until what time they had partied?
After navigating a few streets, they came face to face with a main road. Opposite they saw a huge glass hotel, the Barcelona Princess, and, facing the hotel, an exhibition centre. On the corner stood a café, which was thankfully open. A couple of patrons already sat outside. Seeing the girls approach, a waiter fetched some more chairs. Since the girls hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, they decided this was as good a place as any and promptly placed their order.
‘This is nice, although I wish I had a paper to read,’ said Angela. ‘It’s the kind of place you imagine coming to read and chill out.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Debbie, ‘there’s so little going on.’
Lisa, who had been studying Angela’s map since ordering breakfast, said, ‘Do you think that’s a beach over there?’ she pointed to a path beside the Forum exhibition centre.
‘What does the map say?’ Angela asked her.
‘Could be,’ said Debbie, ‘although I’ve lost my bearings since we came by metro.’
‘Well, if that’s the Barcelona Princess and that’s the exhibition centre, then yes, I think that is a beach,’ said Lisa who peered at the map then drained her coffee. ‘You coming to check it out, Debbie?’
‘Give me ten minutes, so I don’t get indigestion.’ Even the placid Debbie could get her back up with Lisa sometimes. Everything always had to be done yesterday where Lisa was concerned.
Once the pair departed, Gill said, ‘I know I promised myself I wouldn’t look at my personal e-mails, but I think I’ve been very good so far. I have to check them.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Angela, ‘I’ll just read my book for a bit.’
After five minutes, Angela looked up. Gill had a strange expression on her face – a mixture of upset and furious.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Not a word from Anton. Nothing. I know he’s busy, but I really thought he might have e-mailed. Especially after we…’
‘I know, but as you said, he’s busy and he told you he would be. He’s back soon, though, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, another week or so.’
‘Well, there you go. You’ve nothing to worry about,’ Angela waited until Gill turned to her, ‘Right?’
‘Hmm,’ Gill was unsure.
‘Right?’
‘Yes, I suppose. I’m just disappointed.’
‘I know. So, anything exciting in your e-mail?’
Dragging herself away from thoughts of Anton, Gill said, ‘Actually yes, you won’t bloody believe this, but that doctor has only gone and said he isn’t interested in meeting me!’
‘Whaaat?’ Angela couldn’t contain her surprise. ‘You’re joking?’
‘I’m not! Jumped up wee…’ Gill didn’t finish the sentence as she couldn’t find an expletive terrible enough to describe him.
‘I’m sorry, Gill, but I suppose it happens sometimes. Remember, you turned down Ronald and James.’
‘I know, but it’s not the same when it happens to you, and although I agreed to meet him, I wasn’t really that convinced. He was too short for a start.’
‘Yes, it’s his loss. Move on. Anyway, have you heard from sexy Sean, champing at the bit Charlie or gormless Gary?’
Gill reddened. She’d told Angela of her evening with Charlie. She had been very turned on that night, but something hadn’t felt quite right. Going to Barcelona had come at the right time – getting away was exactly what she needed.
‘Gary replied saying it was a surprise, but fairly formal. He asked if I could meet him at Central Station and we’ll get a taxi from there.’
‘Intriguing. Make sure you text one of us when you know where you’re going.’
‘I will. Anyway, I like a guy who puts a bit of thought into things.’
‘Yep, he definitely gets a brownie point for that. Anything else?’
‘No word from Charlie. Sean has asked if I want to go bowling with him. What am I, fifteen? I mean I know he’s thirty-five and cute and kisses well, but bowling?’
‘This is about Anton isn’t it? Why you stopped things going any further with Charlie and why you’re hesitating with Sean?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gill said slowly, ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe you need to think about what you want.’
When Gill remained silent, Angela took the hint and returned to her book.
Ten minutes later, Debbie and Lisa returned.
‘It is a beach. Are you ready?’ Lisa resembled an overexcited puppy. ‘What have you two been up to, anyway?’
Seeing Gill’s warning glance, Angela said, ‘Just waiting for you to come back. OK, let’s go to this beach,’ Angela said.
‘Great! I’ve got my bikini on under my shorts and a towel in my bag,’ said Lisa.
Oh here we go, thought Gill.
The girls wandered down and across a little bridge to the left of the Forum exhibition centre, which did indeed lead to a beach. And that’s where all the young people in Barcelona seemed to be hiding. Some had clearly slept on it last night. How had the noise they were making not reached them at the café? Maybe the sound of the sea and the waves carried away their chatter. Small children played in the water, splashing each other. Some older children played an impromptu game of beach volleyball with their friends and siblings, as their parents stood watching them, cheering them on. Occasionally a dad would jump in for a moment of heroics.
The sun shone high in the cloudless blue sky. It was around noon and the strong rays of the sun made the girls sweat a little. They found somewhere to sit and Lisa, no preamble, stripped down to her bikini, daring her friends to do the same. Gill shook her head. She didn’t feel body confident in a bikini and certainly not next to Lisa. Lisa’s tiny thong and almost non-existent bikini top drew lots of attention from a group of men close by. One woman slapped her husband none-too-playfully on the jaw, seeing him openly ogling Lisa’s breasts. It didn’t help that Lisa rubbed sun tan lotion on herself slowly. Angela and Gill exchanged a look. They were used to her.
They’d been sunbathing for about an hour when two men approached Lisa. Since she didn’t speak Spanish, chatti
ng with them proved a bit difficult, but Lisa smiled openly at them. One spoke to her, whilst the other smiled at the others and said nothing. Initially it seemed that Lisa was quite into the guy chatting her up. A coquettish little laugh burst from her every now and then. Soon her body language changed, her spine stiffened, and her tone made the girls realise something was wrong. Lisa poked the man in the chest angrily. He held up his palms in an ‘OK, OK’ fashion and signalling to his friend, they left.
‘What was all that about?’ a bemused Gill asked.
‘Those lowlifes just offered me drugs.’
‘Whaaat!’ Debbie’s shout could almost be heard from the other end of the beach.
‘Seriously?’ said a dubious Angela. You never knew with Lisa.
‘Straight up.’
‘I thought one of them was interested in you and that’s why they had come over.’
‘They were both interested in me, but as a customer. Bloody drug dealers! They offered me hash, which I refused politely but firmly. Then they suggested I might like to try some ecstasy or cocaine. That’s when I lost it.’
Angela suggested now might be a good time to head back into the city. They all agreed. The cheek of the men had left a bad taste. Their sojourn to the beach was over.
They’d expected it to be busy, but this was unbelievable. The girls managed to push their way into the square, but that was as close as they could get. It proved impossible to reach the front. Fortunately, given the nature of human pyramids, they didn’t miss the action. Four teams pitted against each other. Five men at the bottom, then four would climb on them, then three on them, then two, then a small child would ascend and go right to the top. They all had their hearts in their mouths watching the latter.
‘Oh my God, I can’t look,’ said Gill.
‘That child must only be about eight,’ Debbie said, appalled.
‘They know what they’re doing,’ an unruffled Lisa said.
‘It does look a bit scary,’ Angela admitted.
The crowd held their breath each time a new member of the team climbed up. When it came to the children’s turn, all eyes were on them. The child in question would scramble up as lithely as a cat.
The Dating Game Page 23