The King of Spain
Page 21
Once he felt able, Sam tucked the journal into the fold of his arm near the shoulder, and began to wander back towards the hotel, back to Megan. There was no rush, so he took the time to absorb the world around him, the streets and the sounds, the sun on his face, the sky above and the buildings on either side, that seemed so content to bear the ragged, imperfect skin of their own commonplace histories, a landscape incomparable to everything he had known back on the Estate.
It was late afternoon by the time Sam climbed the steps and into the reception area of the Hotel Santa Maria. And what confronted him there was simply an extension of what had so far been a strange day indeed; a party was going on, and there before him, in the midst of the activity, stood Megan and Komiko, Seagull, Björn and José, even Matador had made an appearance - a truly nightmarish clash of personnel, the last thing he could have expected.
The assembled crowd gave him a rousing cheer as he entered, but after the day that he had had Sam was unable to offer up anything in response; instead he stood there, bewildered, trying not to cry.
The first to come forward to him was José, who gave him a huge bear-hug, hoots and whistles in the background, his advance followed by Megan, who took Sam by the hand to one side of the reception area.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, his voice high and tight.
‘Well... um... it seems...’ she began, smiling away at him. ‘It seems we’ve been had. Well. You have, really.’
‘What?’
‘Well, this. Them. That.’ She pointed at the journal. ‘What I mean is... you could say, I guess... Luis kind of doesn’t exist.’
‘What?’
‘Made up. By Hal, of course. It seems he was determined to get you away from Edge Hill, thought it would be good for you to have an adventure so he set this all up with his mates, José and Komiko and everyone...’
‘And the matador?’
‘And the matador.’
Sam exhaled, rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Luis doesn’t exist?’
‘No. Hal never had a son. But the good news is that you get to keep the journal. It was meant for you all the time. A gift. From a friend.’
‘Luis doesn’t exist,’ Sam said again, quietly.
‘No. Sorry, I didn’t know either, until this afternoon.’ Megan said hoping all the while that Sam would see the funny side of things.
‘Luis doesn’t exist... Luis doesn’t exist...’
Leaning forward, Sam placed his hands on his knees, almost as if the combination of the day’s events, the shock of it all, had defeated him. Was this in fact the start of a debilitating reaction, something post-traumatic?
Megan stepped closer to him. He knew he looked limp and dreary. ‘Joke...’ he murmured.
At last Sam straightened and looked around the room at the eyes set on him. Then he reached over and plucked a bottle of beer from one of the tables nearest to him. ‘To Hal,’ he said, shaking his head.
Sam lifted the bottle and drank and all at once the others burst into life, laughing and shouting, whooping and whistling. Sam’s faced cracked into a broad smile and he stepped forward and greeted each person in turn. And so they set about the evening with great enthusiasm, drinking and smoking, crying and laughing and shouting as they shared their stories of Hal, their dear gone friend, the inimitable King of Spain.
It was the very best kind of memorial, a party that threatened to spill right through the night and on and on into the days that followed. But there came a time in the evening when Sam decided that he should find his own space, sneaking away from the party up towards the roof terrace of the hotel. Here he stood and watched the sun dip behind the tiled rooftops of the old quarter, the great cathedral spire stretching up towards an endless Spanish sky. And as he looked out over the city he thought about the last few months of his life, the strange and varied experiences that had presented themselves. How was it possible that he felt so different from that person, from the one who had set out for Edge Hill several months ago?
He scanned the sky, followed the trail from an airliner as it melted into cloud. For the first time in his life he felt free, free from himself, open towards the world, towards his future. He had no job and no home, no dreams or plans or aspirations of any kind. Nothing lay ahead. Only hope. And love. And that felt magnificent.
Copyright
PUBLISHED BY APOSTROPHE BOOKS LTD
ISBN: 978-1-908556-35-6
2012 Apostrophe Books Ltd
Copyright © Robert Ford 2012
The author has asserted his ownership of the electronic rights and his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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About the author
After graduating from Reading University in 2003, Robert briefly worked as a journalist in India before turning to the world of film editing, where he has been employed ever since. As well as prose, he has written several screenplays, and his directorial debut Sexy Pig was broadcast on the BBC HD channel last year. He now lives and works in north-west London, roaming the streets in search of inspiration, drinking too much coffee and not writing as much as he should. In 2012, he won Apostrophe Books Fiction Fast-Track new-writing competition with The King of Spain, which is his first novel.