How to Kill Your Friends

by Phil Kurthausen

  Meredith thought finding Amy would be easy. Jordi would never tell her who Ferran was. He prided himself on not revealing anything about his customers: it was the appeal of his place. But she recalled Spider mentioning a bar in Gràcia where all the independentistas hung out and she had a hunch that if she turned up there, she would find them, or someone, who for a vermut or beer would know where they were staying. But what she needed to work out was how to permanently make herself part of this world.

  ‘I agree, I’ll get on it right away.’ Meredith didn’t smile this time.

  6

  The door to Alfonso’s cellar was locked.

  This was unusual for a Saturday afternoon because this was when he did most of his business selling the cheap wine to tourists usually already half-drunk and so hot from the burning embrace of the city that they would part with dollars just to sit in the cool comfort of the cellar. But not today and this worried Meredith.

  She walked to the square and into Bar del Pi. The owner, Ramon, was busy serving a counter full of customers but he acknowledged her with a cheery ‘Bon día’ and she took an empty stool at the end of the bar.

  The place still maintained its old-world charm and if George Orwell had strolled in, he would have recognised the tobacco-stained walls, shelves full of old bottles and threadbare furniture. But the clientele was standard ‘summer Barcelona’. The locals, who refused to acknowledge the existence of the tourists as though ignoring an unpleasant smell, shared the same physical if not psychological space with them. A cortado duly arrived and Meredith asked Ramon why Alfonso’s place was closed.

  He grunted and then cocked his head back towards the door where a bunch of tourists where huddled over a bowl of sangria like the witches from Macbeth.

  ‘A guiri got ill, bad batch apparently. You know Alfonso got his wine from the Albanians? It had antifreeze in it as a fucking preservative. Fucking cabróns. If that tourist dies the Mossos will be all over the square. It’s bad for business.’

  Meredith felt her stomach contract as her anxiety relocated from its usual watching brief in her brain to active duty in her core. ‘Do you know who the tourists were?’

  Ramon shrugged. ‘Just some American couple. Apparently, he was ill anyway but he’s fucked now. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with it, would you?’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

  Meredith smiled and let her face light up with a joy and innocence she didn’t possess. ‘Gee, no, I helped him now and again, carrying the stuff, handing out flyers, but I had no idea about the wine being bad.’

  Ramon grunted again. ‘If you see him tell him to not bother coming back until next summer at the least. And if the American dies then he is better off heading for Venezuela!’ He found this funny and laughed loudly.

  Meredith wanted to ask him some more questions about where he thought Alfonso may be and whether the tourist may die or was this the usual barroom hyperbole, but he was now shouting in English at a bunch of nervous-looking Japanese students, asking them what they wanted.

  She left the bar and wandered through the streets of the Barri Gòtic without any real idea of where she was heading and not sure who she could turn to. This was not an unusual experience for her. Although she had lived in the city for three years, she had few, if any friends. There were plenty of people she knew, who she could rely on to meet for a drink, but these were transactional relationships based on value exchange and loneliness. There was no one she could call and just talk to about her worries, her life, her future. It had always been like this, skipping from city to city, being a visitor to other people’s lives and in many ways, she knew herself to be the ultimate tourist.

  Her father had realised what she was early on in life and had, from the age of eight, called her a cold fish. But she didn’t think this was true: she tried to fit in wherever she ended up. It was just that she hadn’t met the right people, the right group into which she fitted. Money was part of the problem, of course. She was so busy scraping a living she never had the time to focus on friends, on living well and allowing herself to become ‘part’ of a place. She envied Amy and the easy way she had become something and was willing to become part of something else here in Barcelona and elsewhere. It was like Amy was set to receive and to transmit and she, Meredith, was only transmitting.

  As she walked the tight alleyways shrouded in golden late afternoon sunshine that cut through the drying clothes on the rails above her, Meredith realised that she could change, she must change, she should become more like Amy.

  But first, she had to find her.

  The door to the apartment block was dark green. Well, the remaining flecks of paint that survived the general lack of care and attention were dark green; the rest of it was stripped down to its essence of blackened wood and as usual, the door was open, allowing any intruders easy access to the block.

  She had told Spider, Frederick and the rest of their stoner friends to make sure they always closed it but they just laughed in her face and made comments under their breath about what a frigid bitch she was. At one time or the other, when they could be bothered raising themselves from the couch, they had all made a pass at her and had all been rebuffed. The insults followed soon after.

  Meredith made her way up the grey concrete stairs, ignoring the ammonia smell of stale piss, which was always so much worse in the summer, until she reached the third floor and the door of apartment thirty-two. This too was slightly ajar and this was unusual. Spider and the rest of them always shut this door: they were paranoid about someone stealing their weed.

  She pushed the door open slowly and gingerly stepped into the flat. It was quiet but this wasn’t unusual at this time of day, as most of the residents didn’t get up until well after lunchtime, but something was different. The hallway was clean. There was an absence of the usual junk, old bikes, electric scooters, skateboards, and surfboards.

  There was a low murmur of hushed voices from the lounge and she headed there, wondering what lay ahead.

  The answer was all of her flatmates in various stages of undress like they had only been recently awoken.

  Spider, Frederick, and Inga were lined up on the couch like errant schoolchildren and standing in front of them was a small man. She would put him no taller than five foot, dressed in black slacks, a black corduroy jacket, and a black fedora. His skin was the colour of dark mahogany and lined from many Catalonian summers. He turned to face Meredith as she entered the room and smiled at her broadly.

  He tapped the floor with the cane he held in his right hand. ‘And now we are complete, I believe?’

  Spider nodded sullenly.

  ‘Would you like a seat, my darling?’ He indicated towards the couch on which there was no room at all.

  Meredith knew what must have happened and what must have become of the possessions no longer in the hallway. She did a quick mental inventory of what she owned. Luckily, apart from the clothes and her ancient iPod, which she carried around with her at all times, there was nothing of value in her room. The only thing was her stash of money under the floorboards. She had managed to squirrel away just over €5,000. It was her escape money and all she had to her name in the world.

  She remained standing.

  ‘Do you know who I am, dear?’ The little man’s teeth were yellowed and black and he stank of cigar smoke. His mouth made Meredith think of a sulphurous crater.

  ‘The King of Spain?’

  He laughed and at the same time she noticed Spider shake his head and his eyes widen as though imploring her not to provoke the man. Meredith looked at the man again and became aware of how still he was. His black-clothed frame was small of stature but now she was aware of how his presence filled the room as though feeding on the fear, which was tangible.

  ‘Well, there have been worse but alas no, I am Carlos Llul, merely the owner of this, and other properties in Barcelona and I make my humble living by receiving rent. And unfortunately, you lovely people have not been paying the rent and
this is unacceptable.’

  The others were looking downwards and now Meredith noticed that there was blood dripping from a cut to Frederick’s lip. Surely, this little man hadn’t done this to him.

  As though answering her question there was a noise behind her and she turned as one of the widest men she had ever seen walked into the room. He seemed to be as wide as he was tall, which wasn’t very. She put him at no taller than five foot three, but his bulk made him look enormous. He had South American features and his fingers were like plump chorizos. He was clearly behind the removal of the furniture and the injuries to her flatmates.

  ‘Ah Diego, thank you for removing the items. They will go a little way – a very little way – to paying your overdue rent, but only a little way, yes? I need the rest now, if you please.’

  Meredith was up to date with her rent. She paid it to Spider, who was the actual leaseholder, and who then subcontracted the rooms to the rest of them.

  She turned her back and went to leave the room, but Diego stepped in front of her, blocking her exit.

  ‘Don’t, Meredith,’ said Inga.

  Carlos whirled round, surprisingly lithe on his feet for such an old man, and pointed at Meredith. ‘You need to listen to your friend.’ He knelt down, bringing his face close to Inga’s. The Swedish girl began to shake. He brought his face close so his lips almost touched hers. ‘If you all don’t bring me my full rent, all of it that is owed, then it will not be your furniture that is taken away. It will be something far more irreplaceable. I trust you all understand.’

  Inga nodded quickly, followed by Spider and Frederick.

  Carlos stood up and looked at Meredith. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ve paid him already.’ She pointed at Spider.

  Carlos cocked his head to one side and studied her for a second. ‘You are different than these, yes I see it, but here is a little secret: I don’t give a fucking shit. My money is all I want. Until Friday, yes? Here is my card if you need to contact me for’ – he looked her up and down salaciously – ‘anything, anything at all.’

  He held her gaze for a moment and then clicked his fingers. ‘Friday.’

  He left the room with Diego.

  Without looking or speaking to the others Meredith followed him out. She didn’t trust herself not to put a fork in Spider’s eye.

  7

  Luckily, they hadn’t found the money hidden in a small gym bag under the floorboards, nor had they taken anything else, but that was only because she didn’t own anything of value. To be so broke not to even have anything worth stealing did not feel like success at the age of thirty-two. Meredith flopped onto the mattress and inserted her headphones so she couldn’t hear her housemates’ vicious argument which was raging in the living room. She put on John Coltrane’s Giant Steps and soon she was sleeping. When she woke, she realised with a curse that she needed something from the last person she wanted to be nice to right now.

  Spider looked at her with suspicion but his fingers didn’t stop their rolling action as he completed his spliff. Meredith was sure that his fingers performed this action even when he slept. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  Meredith cursed inwardly. Why did things have to be difficult with the people who had the least to lose? ‘I’ve been asked by a friend who is writing an article on the independence movement and I know that you mentioned a bar in Gràcia where the key players hang out.’

  He licked the paper and placed the large joint in his mouth.

  Spider in another life could have been a model when heroin chic was in fashion, but he had never had the misfortune to be discovered. Meredith knew from experience that in a few years his face would start to show the ravages of his life of sloth and after that, he would be just another could-have-been.

  He lit the joint and fiery embers leapt from its glowing end like lava rocks propelled from a volcano.

  He sucked in deeply, held the smoke for what seemed like an age and then breathed it out. Meredith hated the smell, sweet and sickly, and Spider knew it.

  She told herself that soon this would be over, and she could move out of this shithole, sharing with Eurotrash, who seemed content to just let their lives fade away in dark apartment rooms whilst listening to the same music and playing the same video games that they had enjoyed in their teenage years.

  ‘Why should I tell you? I told you once already and you didn’t listen or care. Now you want something you’re interested. It’s always the same with you Meredith, you only see people for what they can do for you. You’re cold.’

  He looked a little scared as he said this, his bloodshot eyes darting from her and then down again.

  Meredith tried not to look annoyed. It wasn’t true, so why did it bother her? She just liked some people and disliked others, that was perfectly natural and she shouldn’t have to apologise for it. Yes, this occasion, she did want something from Spider, but surely that didn’t make her manipulative or a cold fish.

  She smiled but Spider just laughed. ‘Won’t work on me. Maybe in the past but not anymore.’ He jabbed the joint at her. ‘I know that smile.’

  Meredith wished she didn’t have to deal with the Spiders of this world. She needed a place and it wasn’t here or anywhere she had been so far in her life. ‘Look, I can help out with your share of the rent this month.’

  Spider looked up and a greedy little look appeared on his face. ‘Well, well, well, little Miss high-and-mighty really needs my help, eh?’

  Meredith stood up. ‘I can ask around. I’m sure Cheese will tell me.’

  Spider looked panicked and waved for her to sit down. ‘No, no, I was joking. Sure, I could do with a little loan, that’s all it would be, a loan. Could you give me an advance now on next month’s rent? You heard Carlos, I could do with a hand right now.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘€100?’

  Meredith took her purse out of her bag and took out two twenties. She handed them over to Spider, who immediately squirrelled them into his pocket.

  ‘The bar?’

  He grinned sheepishly. ‘Oh yeah, the bar.’

  8

  Olivia sipped the wine and Meredith swore she almost purred.

  She had ordered two glasses of white Garnatxa, confident that even Olivia with her refined palate wouldn’t have tasted this before.

  ‘That is so good, Nancy.’

  ‘People are usually surprised by the white Garnatxa. Everyone knows the Garnacha for its reds but this is quite–’

  ‘Unexpected.’ Olivia held the glass up and examined the colour of the wine. ‘And the colour. I thought it was off because it’s so cloudy, but it’s stunning.’

  ‘That’s the word, “unexpected”, exactly. It’s a natural wine so it’s produced without any chemical intervention, no pesticides, no external yeast and definitely no sulphites. I’m glad you like it.’

  She was glad that Olivia liked the wine, but she hadn’t left the selection of the bar to chance. Bar Brutal was close to Soho House but more importantly, it served only the best in viticulture bio wines and was one of the best vinotecas for natural wines in the city. Meredith had spent a few hours the night before looking at Olivia’s social media posts. She had the usual passions – photography, and travel, of course, but it was food, wine and the environment that she preached about the most, so Bar Brutal had been an easy choice.

  Meredith didn’t care for the cloudy, sediment-heavy natural wines and thought them lacking in refinement but they made great Instagram copy and Olivia, Meredith had noted with pleasure, had already taken a few photographs with her phone of the bottle they were drinking and the unfiltered wine sitting heavy in their glasses.

  She needed Olivia on her side, that was clear enough, and to do this she needed to assuage her suspicions. Amy, once she found her, should be easy enough to win over – she liked Meredith or rather Nancy already. Olivia was the issue. If only Olivia wasn’t around, things would be a lot easier, but she was, so Meredith would have to make her see
just what an asset to The Squad she could be. Meredith wanted more than just to be a local fixer and ‘person they used to know’. She had already determined that she wanted more of their life and less of her own.

  They were sitting, side-by-side, on stools that faced the bar.

  ‘I have to say, Nancy, you have turned out differently from how I expected.’

  Meredith didn’t appreciate the ‘turned out’: she was still a work in progress, would be for some time and she was determined to become the person she wanted to be, to improve. Olivia was what, four years her junior and Meredith could tell that she thought she had ‘made it’, achieved her dreams, was where she wanted to be at this stage in life. Meredith wasn’t sure whether she should be jealous of this or infuriated.

  ‘What did you expect?’

  Olivia frowned. ‘I remember you as somewhat exotic because I couldn’t relate to you at all. We weren’t sure whether you liked boys or girls, which we all thought was so cool. And you seemed destined for something else, your whole ‘being there but not there thing’ made me think you knew something the rest of us didn’t and would end up as the President or the leader of some apocalyptic cult.’

  She didn’t need to add the implicit coda. And look where you ended up and where I ended up.

  Meredith had no idea what ‘thing’ she had back then or what Olivia was referring to. Was this why she seemed guarded around her? She remembered feeling liberated after escaping the States and just wanting to do all the things that she hadn’t been able to do during her teenage years. This may have meant she was a bit wild and reckless but she was entitled to this, surely, after what she had been through.

  ‘We only knew each other for a couple of weeks ten years ago.’ Meredith desperately tried to keep any sound of anger or embarrassment out of her voice but she wasn’t sure that she succeeded.

  ‘Yeah, but you don’t need that long to know the essence of someone, yeah? Look at social media, people are attracted to Amy, to me, to The Squad, because they can see our essence in those images and videos and they empathise with us.’