To Catch A Storm (11 page)

Tess was tall and elegant and had her own distinct style. ‘High class hippy hooker’ was the look she was aiming for, she so she said. Janet’s blond hair combined with Tess’s red locks attracted the boys like boozy drunken bees. They buzzed around and were occasionally allowed to get them a cocktail and if they had some good chatter, they’d be allowed to stick around for longer. Now and then, the boozy bees would get lucky. But mostly, they were having too good a night to let it get spoilt by men.

Tess had her own money. She inherited a large chunk of it from an older cousin she’d known until she was four. She’d never seen her since that fourth birthday and it had been a total shock. Some people just had this sort of luck Janet thought, before reminding herself she’d had a little break recently too. Tess certainly didn’t have an aversion to spending her way through it.

After the west coast of America, Janet wanted to go to Cuba and South America. Firstly Havana, then Rio before heading onto Buenos Aires. Then finally, she would go to Barbados and find a beach hut and relax for a month. She convinced Tess to go with her. Tess had wanted to explore South America too but was a little unsure about doing it alone. The arrangement worked well for the pair of them. They’d stay ten days in each place, give or take, and share accommodation. Neither of them needed to stay places long enough to find jobs and work to earn their keep or conserve their finances.

They stayed in Havana’s most exclusive hotel; Janet took a suite. It was grand but fabulously old fashioned and dilapidated; stubbornly remaining in a different era. They sought out the very best bars the place had to offer and drank copious numbers of Mojitos nightly. Mojitos were a drink that hit you hard in the morning and the best way to combat the thud in the back your head was to take an afternoon cocktail and get back on the wagon. A week into their stay, a Saturday, they found one of the local’s drinking dens and were very pleased with themselves. The whole point of traveling was to get away from the tourists. Away from the beaten track. No tourists found this place. It was a dark hole of a bar. Hot, sweaty, sticky, smokey. No well turned-out visitors wearing designer brands, just local Havanans with few worldly cares. Drinking their way through simpler lives. A motley Latino jazz crew played between drinks and smokes providing an irresistible foot tapping backing track. The Mojitos and Caipirinhas were delicious and lethal in equal measures. Two guys ended up chatting to them, one of them said he owned the bar. A striking pairing with slicked hair, sparkling brown black eyes and big collars. Their English was broken but it didn’t dilute their swaggering double act. The pair were amazed that these two had found the bar and quizzed them on how they managed it. They bought them drinks and kept them flowing. Janet watched the pair like a hawk even though she was getting drunk and giddy. They didn’t seem like the sort that would spike their drinks, but this was Havana and Charlie hadn’t seemed like the sort that would spike drinks either. Janet was so concerned with ensuring they were straight up with the drinks that she missed the real problem. The drinks didn’t need spiking, they had the kick of a vexed donkey without any additional chemicals. From about 11pm, the night speeded up as those nights tend to. Before they knew it, they were dancing on the bar with the men, getting whooped by customers. Then they were at the friend’s flat which was above another bar with the two men. Drinking again. Beers, shots of tequila, but this was not the salt and lemon type, it was more refined, you could drink it straight and it was smooth and tasty. A joint was passed around. It made Janet feel loose limbed and giggly.

Tess danced with the bar owner’s friend to a vinyl record they’d put on which was perfect follow on music to what had been playing in the bar. Janet was slouched on the sofa chatting and flirting and laughing with the bar owner. Discussing their collective thoughts on America. Then he was talking about her hands and how beautiful they were and then before she knew it, her finger was in his mouth. Sucking on it. It shouldn’t have but it made her giggle even more.

Then he was pulling her up some stairs which he seemed to have pulled from the ceiling out of nowhere. As they climbed them, the stairs waddled side to side under their weight. And then they were on the roof of the building under a billion stars. He had deck chairs into which they collapsed. It was the perfect stargazing spot. Occasionally Janet called out to Tess to ensure she was all good. Tess would call back ‘all good hun’. She wanted to make sure all was well but at the same time it was nice to have this privacy. She liked the bar owner. He was cheeky, charming, handsome and funny. He produced another joint from his chest pocket. Then from a tin box which sat between the deck chairs he pulled another bottle of rum. He poured them a small glass each and downed his straight off. She decided that was a sign all was ok. It was delicious. She took the bottle to see the make, but there was no English words on this bottle. She reminded herself that she’d need to take it easy from now on. She could easily imagine herself ending up here at the end of her remaining night in Havana. She felt incredibly content.

Suddenly, from downstairs, she heard the atmosphere change. Something happened between Tess and the bar owners friend and she heard a slap above the sound of the music. She jumped up and got down the rickety steps as quickly as she could. Before Janet knew it, they were in a full on shouting match with the bar owner’s friend. Janet grabbed Tess to make for the door. The bar owner pulled out a knife from his sock and jumped in front of them as if to stop them leaving, holding the knife up toward them. He’d stopped speaking in his broken English and was now just shouting in Spanish at both the girls and his friend. The knife was a particularly nasty looking job which was really quite dirty. Hunting knife Janet guessed. She was panicked and trying to find out from Tess what had happened but all she could get from her was ‘we are leaving!’ Tess ignored her and went as if to slap the bar owner’s friend and then kicked him as hard as she could in his crotch in a single sharp action. It was the most amazing thing Janet had ever seen. He dropped like a stone to his knees. The knife dropped onto a chair allowing his hands to cover and protect the source of the pain. He had stopped shouting and was whispering quietly to himself in Spanish. Janet grabbed the knife and Tess once more and pulled her toward the door. She was shouting something back at the man she’d slapped about rape and being presumptuous. They got onto the street without talking and started down it as fast as their feet would take them without actually breaking into a run. A loud crash exploded behind them. They looked behind briefly and there was a plant pot strewn across the road. She guessed the bar owner’s friend had slung it. At the end of the street, Janet clattered the knife into a bin and the pair of them burst into nervy laughter at exactly the same time. Probably from their massive bursts of adrenalin starting to subside. They ended up with cans of beer sitting on the beach watching the sun coming up, chatting the pointless chatter of people who’ve drunk a skin-full. Tess confided that she had wanted to have sex with the guy, but he said that they wanted a foursome, then he had just started in on groping her roughly. ‘Fucking men!’

Tess was a lot of fun, but Janet soon discovered she was hard work to live with at close quarters. Janet believed her own life to be manic, messy and generally a little on the sporadic side. Tess was all this to the power of ten. They lasted 4 nights staying in the same suite. Had a rum drunk row about politics and decided the morning after that they’d both prefer a bit more space. The crazy thing was Janet had absolutely no interest in politics. They stuck together though and went on to visit Rio and Buenos Aires before locating side by side beach huts in Barbados. As beach huts went, these were the finest money could rent. Tess stayed in Barbados for a week, lazing around on the beach like an exotic Aussie lizard before heading off to find some more culture in Europe. She said she would ‘start in Naples and work her way north until she could see the northern lights’. Janet said she would visit her next year, either in Australia or wherever she happened to be.

This paradise was too perfect for Janet to give only a week to. She stuck around and learned to scuba dive with a handsome, blue eyed instructor by the name of Erik who was Danish. They ended up chatting after her morning lesson and Erik asked her if she’d like to get a drink later. A drink turned into several drinks. Drinks turned into a meal and the meal turned into a night in her hut. That night turned into the next two and a half weeks. Erik was physically extremely fit. At 46 years old, his stamina would have shamed most 18 year olds. They both shed a tear as Janet left to return to Barcelona. Erik said he would keep in touch and may visit her in Barcelona. Janet was happy to have spent the two weeks with him, but was now ready to get back to her life in Barcelona where she had her home comforts. Oddly, she was homesick for the place.

On her return, Janet picked up the keys to her new home from the estate agent’s office. It was a world away from the beeps, shouts and screeching tyres of Via Laietana. It was actually 2.1km as the crow flew, but that made all the difference. It was also clear of the humidity that sometimes descended upon the dark streets of Spanish cities helped by a cool, salty breeze coming up off the Mediterranean. The breeze was warm, but somehow refreshing. It drifted over the city, up the hills and finally reached into her terrace and through her open doors and windows. Combined with the marble floors and thick walls, it meant the temperature was always just right. Cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Well that’s what the estate agent had assured her at least.

It was a town house built above a ground floor garage. She’d selected this house in the same way someone would have selected a plot of land on which to build a castle in centuries gone by. It was atop a hill which meant she had good views around and could see people approaching. Secondly, it was extremely secure. The ground floor was basically just garage and a door with no windows. If someone did manage to get into the garage, there was another locked door before reaching the house. She had had a new door fitted on the day she moved in as she thought the original one looked a little flimsy. That could not be said of her new door which was solid oak, with two latches and a dead bolt. Even though so much time had passed, she knew she would always have to be a little wary. The amount of money she stole from Carl and Charlie and their crew, she knew there was always a chance they would still try to track her down. A small downside really, but one unfortunately that would always be present.

She was furnishing the place gradually. So far, she had furnished her bedroom and the lounge. She had bought an amazing Italian corner sofa from eBay for a few hundred euros that had cost about five thousand new. It was super low slung and she’d ensured everything else in the lounge from the coffee table to the stand for the TV was equally low. She accessorised the sofa with mix and match cushions and it looked amazing, even if she did think so herself. The bedroom, like a French courtesan’s boudoir, she told herself. Grand and yet feminine with a Queen size antique Louis XVI bed and matching wardrobe. She’d contrasted it with a white leather Barcelona chair in the corner and tucked behind the chair was a blood stained bull fighting spear that had somehow made its way from her rented apartment to her new house. Her last line of defence.

She knew soon her mother would want to come visit and several friends had expressed an interest in coming to see her. She’d been formulating her house ‘back story’.

‘How can you afford this house Janet? This lifestyle?’

‘Oh, I can’t, I’m long term house sitting for Nancy, my old friend from Uni / School / my old job / insert as appropriate / who married a Spanish guy. He’s very wealthy and they decided to take a few years off and go travelling around the world. I think they’re in Easter Island at the moment…’

Her red Vespa stood outside her front door; she knew the salty sea air would eventually be the death of it. Unfortunately, her garage was now filled with a sort of replacement for the Lambo and there was no room for the bike. She’d splashed out on a ‘95 Porsche 911 cabriolet in powder blue metallic with light grey checked cloth seats. She’d thought about something older, more classic like a 60’s Mercedes Sports, but then she remembered she’d heard some stories from friends who had old classic cars that they broke down all the time. The idea of a classic was great but she needed something that was reliable and the Porsche was just that. She had bought it from a classic car garage in Barcelona and was particularly proud as she had spoken only in Spanish during the purchase process. The car had come highly recommended as it had a full service history and had seemingly been maintained without cutting corners. The salesman had shown her several examples of this maintenance such as the tyres which were all matching and (almost) new, Michelins; a gleaming engine and new Porsche car mats. They had said another good reason to buy this car was that there was a good independent Porsche garage nearby in Barcelona which would be able to continue to maintain the car to the highest standards.

Her car was the two wheel drive model and it had a considerable list of extras such as an electronically retractable roof, heated, electrically adjustable ‘comfort’ seats and dual airbags. When she picked up the keys having paid the outstanding balance, she was so excited. She started up the engine, which though on a different plane to the Lambo still had a throaty exhaust note, hit the roof button to lower the roof in about thirty seconds and off she went. It was so slow compared to the Lambo but it stuck a much larger grin on her face. Something about the top being down and endless blue sky overhead.

She’d spent a lot of time exploring around Sitges further down the coast from Barcelona and she liked it very much there. She would go north up the coast today though towards Blanes and see if there was anywhere that took her fancy. She blipped the garage door remote control she kept in her glove box and it slowly raised up. She eased the car out and hit the close button. The roof lowered as she waited for the garage door to finish closing. All set, her hair still wet from her shower, she set off. Driving coastal roads in a topless Porsche was a great way to dry your hair and give it a natural Latin tousle.