‘You’re wearing flip-flops,’ she said to him now.
‘I bought them myself. From a shop!’ he said, proudly. He held out the bag and, through the thin plastic, she saw the shape of his pointy shoes. ‘Haven’t worn them since Bali. Rubbing to buggery.’
He opened his arms and she stepped forward to hug him. It had been a long time since they’d had physical contact. He smelled, faintly, of meat – she imagined him having a sausage sandwich for breakfast. The slightness of his torso surprised her; he wasn’t much bigger than her. They were of the same stock. Unexpectedly, she flooded with warmth. Here was her father . He meant her no harm.
‘How did you get here?’ she said.
Derek took this more literally than she intended.
‘I walked from my apartment,’ he said, proudly. ‘Timmy told me where you lived.’
‘Tommy,’ said Anna.
Derek explained that he found Marea Moves on the Internet, and a nice woman called Karen had arranged his trip. He was being put up in an empty holiday let on the urbanization, and later that day he was going to be shown a few places he might be interested in buying. Tommy and Karen’s own villa sounded like it might be just the ticket.
‘So, this is where you’ve been hiding,’ he said, looking around the square. He had planted his hands on his hips in an oddly self-conscious gesture, and it occurred to Anna that he might be feeling nervous.
‘Hardly hiding,’ she said, weakly.
‘That the name of your bar, then?’ he said, pointing at the PUTA . ‘Doesn’t that mean . . . ?’
Without answering, Anna noisily hauled up the shutters.
‘Would you like a drink?’ she said, turning back to him.
Derek pursed his lips in mock-consideration.
‘Oooh, go on then.’
He followed her into the bar.
‘So I was on the plane and had a cup of tea and was talking to the girl, the stewardess,’ he said, as Anna ducked behind the counter, ‘and after a minute she said, “Sir – did you pre-purchase a chat-up voucher? Otherwise I’m going to have to stop you there.”’
Anna smiled obliging as she stood up with the wine.
‘And since when did seats not recline back?’ he said.
‘You sound like you haven’t been on a plane for fifteen years,’ she said. ‘I thought you and Elsbeth were always zooming around Europe.’
‘She liked going on trains,’ he said. ‘Thought it was romantic. Her idea of romance – being woken up by a Belgian bloke demanding our passports.’
Anna laughed. She was surprised at how pleased she was to see him. And Derek, always happy when women responded well to him, was pleased too.
‘You look very pretty,’ he said, as he leaned over the counter to reach the glasses above the bar, in a nimble, practised move. ‘Something’s different about you.’
They brought two chairs out onto the terrace. The wine was corked – it tasted disgusting, actually – but Derek didn’t seem to notice, or care. Reclining in his white plastic chair, glass in hand, squinting up at the sun, he was in his element. From her upright position of power, Anna appraised him. His oiled grey curls glistened in the sun and his ankles were shiny and swollen. The veins on his hands were like blue pencils. He had rolled his T-shirt up to his shoulders, like a superannuated heart-throb.
‘So, what the hell are you doing here?’ she said. ‘You’re not really coming to join the migrants?’
‘Well, you did,’ he said.
‘Yes, but . . . that was different.’
‘You said I should come!’
‘No I didn’t!’ she said, frowning. ‘When did I say that?’
‘Everyone wants to come here, don’t they,’ he continued. ‘“Living the dream”.’ He did quotation marks with his fingers around the last phrase.
The gesture irritated Anna.
‘Actually, lots of people are desperate to leave,’ she said, tartly. ‘They’re spending their weekends sitting in car parks trying to sell their old sandwich toasters.’
‘All the better for a good deal!’ he said. ‘That bloke Tommy reckons I can get a place for a song.’
If his eyes weren’t already closed Anna was sure he’d have winked. Her affection for him started to wane.
‘It’s not like Bali,’ she said.
‘Ah, Bali,’ he sighed. ‘The beaches there were like talcum powder.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I went there too. Remember?’ He frowned.
‘When?’
‘In my year off,’ she said. ‘You said you’d come and meet me there. Show me your old stamping ground.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘I mean,’ she continued, lightly, ‘yes, you did say that. But you didn’t come.’
‘Oh, God,’ he said, glancing across at her. ‘Forgive me. I was such a hopeless bastard.’ He closed his eyes again.
‘Hey, guess who I saw at the airport?’ he continued.
‘Ruby.’
‘Which one was she?’
‘Little redhead. Actress. Liked evaporated milk in her tea. Teddies on the bed.’
Anna did remember Ruby: she was the first of Derek’s girlfriends Anna had met after he’d decided to reacquaint himself with his daughters. Anna and Marie-Anne had been in their late teens. Derek had had a tiny part in a play at a pub in Fulham, and suggested that the two of them come to see it and then he’d take them out for dinner afterwards. Ruby was his fellow actress, narrow-faced and superior, and as Anna and Marie-Anne hung around awkwardly in the dressing room before the performance, she’d suggested that the girls tidy the make-up on her dressing table whilst she and Derek were on stage. Quite an extraordinary ask, in retrospect. But Anna had done as Ruby asked, carefully wiping the powder pots and arranging the brushes in height order. Marie-Anne had refused to participate, watching Anna, arms crossed and mouth open, a caricature of disgust.
‘Why would you do that?’ she’d asked Anna.
Now, the memory bothered her. Why had Derek allowed Ruby to boss her around like that? And why had she gone along with it?
‘She was looking so old,’ Derek continued. ‘Hair like a horse’s mane. Practically had a stoop.’
‘I’m sure she was thinking exactly the same about you,’ said Anna.
‘I’m sure she was,’ said Derek, amiably.
There was a pause. Anna moved to take another sip of the corked wine, but put it aside.
‘So, what would you do out here?’ she said. ‘You know there are no jobs?’
Derek shrugged.
‘I don’t need much to live on, if a place is cheap. Got my piddly pension,’ he said. And then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he opened his eyes and looked over at her. ‘Hey, maybe I could help you run this place? Be a little team?’
‘Better late than never, eh,’ she said. She didn’t bother to keep the edge out of her voice this time.
He frowned. Derek could stand being gently ribbed, but actual criticism was a different matter. She hadn’t said anything even vaguely challenging to him for years.
To her surprise, Derek didn’t go on the defensive.
‘Your mum wouldn’t let me see you,’ he said, looking over to her. ‘I was desperate to see you, babe. The hours I spent on the phone to Janet, begging her. She always said you were busy doing some class.’
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if in pain.
‘It’s the great sadness of my life.’
Anna knew this wasn’t true. But, looking across at her father reclining in his chair – wrinkles radiating from his screwed-up eyes, his small bones just like hers, swollen ankles exposed – she was hit by a wave of empathy. We’re all a mess, we all make mistakes, she thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having him here. She might barely know him but he was her father, and he probably did love her, in his way. That counted for something, didn’t it?
‘Dad,’ she said, finally. ‘I know it l
ooks really nice here. And it is, in some ways. But there are some people around who I’ve annoyed. They don’t want me to be here. They’re after me.’
‘Oo-er,’ said Derek, and he half-rose from his chair, as if to scarper. Settling back in his seat, he smiled to himself at the joke, and then leaned forward to refill his glass with the off wine. Anna waited but there was no follow-up. The conversation ended at his gag.
She looked away from him, out into the square, punctured and embarrassed. She thought of Jaime’s reaction when he saw the graffiti; his promise to find out who’d done it. Some twenty-five-year-old kid she barely knew showed her more concern than her own father. Yet here he was now, expecting her to look after him!
‘Dad, if you come here, you’re on your own,’ she said, stiff with anger. Before Derek could respond, a sing-song voice floated towards them.
‘Hola, chica!’
Derek glanced over Anna’s shoulder, and she saw his face brighten. She turned to see Mattie, wearing her white tennis dress and that vast black sun hat. Derek pulled himself upright.
‘Hola!’ called Derek, with such warmth that Anna wondered whether the two had met before, earlier that morning.
But no.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked Anna.
She didn’t reply, distracted by a figure trailing behind Mattie, hobbling on crutches. As the person drew nearer, she realized it was Richard. His right leg was in a brace.
‘Poor, poor Richard!’ said Mattie, breathily, as she stepped up onto the terrace. ‘Those mopeds should be banned!’
Derek had already stood up to offer Mattie his chair.
‘I quite agree,’ he said, as if they were in the middle of a conversation. ‘I once fell off one on Westminster Bridge at forty miles an hour. Still got the dent, see.’
He lowered his head towards Mattie and pointed at a spot on his skull. She giggled and leaned forward to touch it. Anna turned back towards Richard, who was awkwardly catching up. One leg of his suit had been cut to accommodate the brace. His hair was flat and unstyled, and she could see he was trying not to show pain, to act insouciant.
‘What happened?’ she asked in a low voice, as she moved alongside him.
‘Oh, stupid accident,’ he said, not looking at her. He seemed a lot older, his face bare and blanched. ‘Got in the way of a scooter.’
‘It wasn’t an accident, though, was it,’ said Anna, even lower. Richard glanced at her, but said nothing,
‘Was it to do with the DVDs?’ she went on. ‘Supplying them to the men on the beach? What happened?’
After a pause, he started to speak, so quietly that Anna had to lean close to hear. He described how he had been walking home the previous night when he was attacked just outside the gates of the urbanization. A man approached him from behind and warned him to keep out of his business, then produced a length of metal piping and smashed him on the shin.
Unbidden, Anna had a flashback to Jaime, that morning. ‘A great big copper pipe!’
‘Was he Spanish? African?’ she said.
‘He spoke Spanish,’ said Richard. ‘He may have been black. I don’t know. It was dark.’
‘But surely you could tell if he was a native Spanish speaker.’
‘I don’t know,’ he hissed, irritated.
They had reached the terrace. Richard rearranged his expression for the benefit of Mattie and Derek and said, brightly, ‘Got here eventually!’
Derek jumped up, making a song and dance about getting a chair and settling him in, before proprietorially going into the bar and fetching another bottle of white and two more glasses. Sitting back down, Derek continued to focus on Mattie, but Richard strained forward to join in, smile fixed on his face, laughing at half-heard jokes.
Anna stood a few feet away, staring blankly into the square as she digested what Richard had said. She felt as if she was jumping to conclusions, but what were they? She had no idea.
Then, there was a presence at her side and she turned to see a policeman. She hadn’t noticed him approach; he must have come up the side street behind the bar.
‘This bar has been closed,’ he said, indicating the sticker on the window. ‘You can not have customers.’
‘This is a private gathering,’ said Anna, ‘I’m not open for business.’
‘There can be no use of the terrace. And you must pull down your shutters.’
He stood there, rubbing one hand with the other, his eyes invisible behind his dark glasses. Anna drew breath to protest, but then realized this meant she could get rid of the trio on her terrace.
‘I’ve got to close up now,’ she called out to them.
‘Awww,’ said Derek, pulling a cartoon sad face. He didn’t ask why.
‘You can go over there.’ Anna pointed across to Sweeney’s.
Derek helped Richard to his crutches before taking Mattie’s arm and continuing their conversation as they shuffled over.
The policeman still stood there, waiting. Now the others had gone, Anna felt mulish again, and gracelessly took in the chairs and glasses, thumping them down inside, before locking the bar door and wrenching down the shutters. PUTA. The word seemed even bigger and more lurid, as if the curly letters were a fast-growing plant. She looked at the policeman, but if he had a reaction, she couldn’t see it through his glasses. He turned and walked away, across the square into town.
Anna shivered. Over at Sweeney’s terrace, Derek, Mattie and Richard were ensconced, a new bottle on the table. None of them glanced over at her. Maybe they thought she was going to join them. She felt exposed and hyper-vigilant, her gaze flitting between the entrances to the square. Each one had its dangers. From the south, the sea side, she kept expecting to see Paco. He would slowly emerge from the beach steps: first that shiny bald head, then the triangle of hard brown flesh of his neck and shoulders. His hands balled with anger as he walked towards her. From the north, the town side, the police. And then Simón, who could appear from anywhere.
‘Psst!’
It was an insistent hiss, the sort you might give a cat who was tearing into your rubbish bag. Anna panned around the square, past the stiff, ambling couples, the waiting birds, the ice-cream shop, until she reached the woman in the You Chic shop doorway.
‘Psst!’ the woman said again, and she beckoned to Anna with one quick hand gesture. Then she stepped back into the shop.
She must want to complain about the graffiti. Resigned, Anna walked over and ducked inside. She’d never actually been in the shop before. It was low-lit, as if the shelves held ancient, priceless artefacts rather than glass paperweights and beaded lizards, novelty fans and shell ornaments. Flammable, child-sized flamenco dresses hung from the wall and brushed Anna’s cheek as she passed. She saw that the objects were all dusted and regimented, and furniture polish hung in the air.
The woman was standing in the gloom at the back, stationed behind the till, as if Anna was coming in to buy a pair of miniature castanets. Despite seeing the woman every day, Anna had never been this close to her, and she was younger than Anna thought: in her early thirties, maybe, with drawn features and a growing-out perm. A feather duster lay on the counter.
‘Look, I’m so sorry about the graffiti,’ Anna said, in Spanish.
‘I saw him,’ said the woman in reply.
‘Who?’
‘Shouting at you the other day,’ the woman said. She spoke furtively, as if they might be overheard, even back here.
‘You mean Mr Ruiz?’ Anna said, finally understanding. ‘The little guy?’
‘Sí, sí, Mr Ruiz,’ said the woman. ‘And now, the painting.’
‘What?’ said Anna. ‘You saw him do it? The graffiti?’
The woman waved her hands at this preposterous thought.
‘You think he asked someone else to do it?’ said Anna.
The woman nodded.
‘And I saw you,’ she continued. ‘And the English man. In the Plaza del Sol.’
Anna stared at her. The woman looked p
ained, but kept her gaze. Anna had the feeling she had steeled herself for this encounter, and was determined to see it through.
‘I live there,’ the woman said. ‘And I saw you.’
‘You live there?’ said Anna, very confused now. ‘But it’s empty.’
‘It’s not empty,’ said the woman.
Anna had an image of the woman squatting in one of those half-built buildings, watching silently from the window cavity at Tommy and Anna in the car. Observing in the same furtive, unsmiling way that she peered out from under her display of T-shirts.
‘You mean you live there permanently?’ said Anna. ‘But there’s no electricity or water or anything, is there?’
The woman shook her head impatiently. This wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. She leaned in close to Anna.
‘The man, Mr Ruiz, he also goes there,’ the woman said, head bent, almost at a whisper. ‘He goes there, after work. Around six. You should go there then, too.’
‘Wait, what?’ said Anna, reaching out to take her arm. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?’
The woman hesitated and frowned, as if trying to decide how much to say.
‘He is hipócrita .’
And with that, she picked up the feather duster and turned away back to her shelves.
As Anna emerged from the shop, she glanced up at the church clock. Just past four. Crossing over to Sweeney’s, she told Derek that she was nipping up to the cash and carry.
‘Don’t worry, you stay here,’ she added, superfluously.
He smiled up at her, beatific, his arm draped over the back of Mattie’s chair.
‘Your man Tommy is going to show me his villa later,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a call.’
Anna got into her car and drove away. She was too early for the Plaza del Sol and so stopped at the edge of town, went into a random empty restaurant and ordered an omelette and chips. She sat at the window. Opposite the restaurant was a Spanish tapas bar, and she watched as the owner came out and sprinkled a handful of toothpick wrappers and crumpled serviettes on the pavement around his outdoor tables. An old trick, she knew, to give the impression of popularity.
Her food arrived and as she ate she went over the bizarre conversation in the shop. The woman had seen Tommy and Anna’s secret trysts in the car. She’d seen Simón shouting at Anna in the square. And she suspected Simón of ordering the PUTA on Anna’s shutters. Did she think that Anna and Simón were together, and Anna was betraying Simón with Tommy, and Simón had found out?
Under the Sun Page 20