CHAPTER 6
That day was one for bimbling. Sunscreen slathered, floaty dresses and floppy hats donned, or shorts and T-shirt in Lil’s case, and it was a slow amble past a wide variety of shops and tourist traps, with the occasional pause for ice cream, or a cold soft drink. We eventually emerged at the seafront, where all the usual sorts of souvenir cabins and eateries lined one side of a broad footpath, the other dropping onto a sort of beach.

I say ‘sort of’, because while there was quite a bit of sand, the waterline looked like gravel. Beyond the gravel was a broad rock ledge; sweeping golden sands were most definitely not the local thing. Jenny (I had decided that I would be the short form) stared at the black slabs.

“That’s lava, isn’t it? Old lava flow”

I pointed inland, past some high rise blocks to a much higher rise of land.

“Sodding great volcano there. Might have something to do with things. Now, I think we need footwear options”

Three puzzled faces looked back.

“Water shoes, girls. Sandals you can swim in. Not walking on that stuff with bare feet, and I am certainly not spreading my towel on it. One of those tat shops will have the necessaries. You got any goggles or anything, Lil?”

“Um, no. Didn’t think”

“Then think”

Ten minutes later, and we had our needful things, and I volunteered to take the first shift of towel sitting while the other three hit the water. I was a bit disappointed with the beach, to be honest; my dreams had been of gentle waves, white sands and waving palms. The palms were there, even though cropped, but not my beach. I settled back with more than a little satisfaction, though, closing my eyes and luxuriating under blue (ish) skies and a most un-Welsh warm sun. When my turn for a swim came, it was most definitely not like Barry.

We worked a rotation from toasting on our spread towels to cooling in the shallow waves, with the obligatory attempts to drown each other, which was when I discovered that Lil---LIL!---had a very piercing squeal. Work was centuries away, cares washed out of my soul in the salt water. There were clouds, mostly drifting over from the big volcano, but they were clouds, no more, rather than warnings of an imminent replay of Pompeii. Our lunch was made up of bits and pieces from a seafront ‘minimarket’, and all was right with the world.

We set off back for the hotel at around five, and as we called at reception, Graham asked how our day had been. Amina was as direct as ever.

“Beach isn’t exactly great, is it? All congealed lava”

“Really? Where did you go?”

“Las Americas beach. Where else?”

“Well, if you’d gone south rather than west, there are some proper beaches there. Sand, aye? Not as good as my old place, but the sea’s warmer”

He laughed out loud at his own words.

“When I say ‘warmer’, like, it’s a bit like saying the Arctic can be a bit on the chilly side”

Lil perked up just then.

“That old place of yours. Was that where Mike was talking about? Friend of Debbie’s, he is. Took his family up that way for a tour”

“Whereabouts?”

“Maz—his wife, aye? She said something about a boat out to some little islands, with seals and things”

“The Farnes?”

“Sounds like the name”

“We’re not far from there. I was a farmer, dairy herd. Just back from the beach. Hang on…”

He turned to his laptop, pulling up the maps, and then the street view.

“That’s our beach. Dunstanburgh”

Amina eased past me for a closer look.

“Why couldn’t you just bring that with you?”

“Ah, it’s miles long. Would have cost a bit in hold baggage fees. Now, the better beaches here are…”

He pointed them out on the screen, passing us a timetable for local transport, then asked where were eating that evening. Lil stared at Jenny for a few seconds, getting a nod, and then turned to Graham.

“What you said the first evening, about the best gay bars? Well, we, me and Jen here, we don’t fancy that sort of scene right now. Just decent food, and somewhere to sit and natter”

Amina had her hand up.

“And booze, of course!”

Lil raised an eyebrow, archly.

“Well, duh!”

Graham nodded.

“One good rule of thumb is not to eat anywhere with pictures of the food up as you go in. Spanish, local, international or Brit food?”

I shrugged.

“Local, for me. There’s a difference between local and Spanish?”

“Yup. Lots of African influence here, plus what became Spanish Caribbean stuff, as well as historic things from before the Spanish came. Hang on…. Got a leaflet…”

He passed us a list of the main local specialities, then looked at the clock.

“Drink before you go out, ladies?”

Jenny laughed.

“Shower the salt off first, be like, then hydrate. Sangria for me!”

I thanked Graham and led the way to our little place, where we decided that we could all save water by showering in pairs, before all adopting ‘comfy’ gear rather than ‘smart’ and settling down to the big jug of cold fruitiness the bar staff had ready for us. Jenny had clearly been paying attention, for as the first sips went down, she started a little lecture about traditional eating places.

“I have a particular place in mind, if that’s okay. Local cuisine, but a big emphasis on seafood”

Amina perked up, as is her way.

“Are we talking tentacles?”

Jenny nodded.

“If I have it right, LOADS of tentacles. They also do it as tapas, which is unusual. Apparently, tapas is more a Spanish and tourist thing. Means we get a chance to taste more things”

I looked at Amina, who was clearly reading my mind, as usual, and she simply nodded. I squeezed her hand, just to let her know.

“Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I make another suggestion?”

“Course”

“Then why don’t we look for a bar with seating on the seafront, and finish the evening there after eating? I don’t think any of us is really out for a rave”

Lul muttered something about her age and her back, and Amina sniffed, before a mock sulk.

“No slow smoochy dances for me, then? Typical. Marriage really does kill romance!”

Jenny chuckled, then looked at our now-empty jug.

“Shall we get rolling, then?”

The place turned out to look pretty drab from the outside, but once in the door it turned out to be a large courtyard, covered by a trellis with some sort of climbing flowery plant all over it. The floor was a little uneven, and the chairs were metal, so every time someone moved there was a bit of a screech. At least the table we were given didn’t rock. We were left with four full laminated menus, what was clearly a separate ‘fixed price’ deal on a piece of A4 paper and a couple of drink lists.

“You English? Deutsch? Nederlands?”

Lil answered for us all, “Welsh!”, which seemed to leave our waitress rather confused, so I added, “Next to England, it is”

“Oh! Scotsia? Earlanda? Galless?”

Jenny solved that one, and we put our drinks orders in. When our woman returned with the first round, she brought a little Welsh flag on a stick which she placed in the pottery vase thing that held the cutlery. She grinned happily at our reaction.

“Is my hijo, si? My son. He work in Barcelona and plays the rugby game. All flags for Copa--- World Cup, he was here for vacation. We did special nights”

She left us, with a smile, and I started to look through the main menu as Jenny hauled out a bundle of paper that turned out to be a sort of idiot’s guide to the local food. Amina looked up from her cold beer with a frown.

“Don’t remember Spain in the World Cup”

Lil shrugged.

“Ah, they qualified, for the last two, I think, but they had a ding-dong with Romania, and it turned out that one of their players was on a false passport, so they got the boot. What? I’m Welsh! Played when I was a bit younger, but past it now”

Jenny was shaking her head, a hint of a grin showing.

“That’s two of us, then. I was made to play at school, but it was never my thing. Not to play, anyway”

Not bloody surprising, was my thought. Every so often some comment like that emerged, and I would realise how easy my life had actually been, despite my PCOS and other issues. Change the subject, Jen.

“Jenny? What’s good on that list of yours, and how does it compare to what’s offered on the menu?”

“Oh…. Right…hang on a sec… Yup”

She put her papers down on the table next to one of the plastic-covered menus and started talking through the specialities, and in the end we each settled for a main dish along with a drift of little platters to share, and it turned out to be almost too much to finish, which is always the problem with tapas. ‘Ooh, that looks nice, and so does that, and…’ doesn’t always finish on a note of ‘Anyone want this last bit of tentacle before I grab it?’ but more often with a variation of ‘If I have any more, I’ll be ill’. If we were looking to spend some time chilling on the seafront, I preferred to do so with room to spare in the tank.

Bill paid, arms linked and a slow, slow stroll through the warm darkness back to our first beach, where there were a couple of bars with open-air seating just behind the seafront promenade, which seemed like a plan to us all. As we approached, I was delighted not to hear some over-pumped sound system churning out shit music, and then there was a free table, just inside the little fence that marked off the seating area. Lil muttered something to Jenny as we sat down, and that one called across to me and Amina with a grin.

“Professional complaint, she says. People should have to go to the bar, not sit round like, what was it, love? Oh yes: little lazy sacks of laziness? Yeah, like little sacks et cetera, waiting to be served”

Amina settled back in her seat, clearly trying for her best Richard E Grant.

“I want the finest sangria known to humanity, and I want it here and I want it now”

Lil shook her head.

“Not me. Anyone fancy sharing a bottle of cava?”

My wife perked right up.

“Forgot about that, I did! Me for the fizzy as well, then”

I gave her the usual eyebrows.

“Does fizz go with tentacles?”

“Dunno. Gonna find out!”

I caught a slurred voice, almost a whisper.

“Yebbut, mate, only one of them’s a wog”

The comment had come from outside the fenced-off seating, and from its intonation, I assumed it wasn’t actually meant for us. At least, I hoped it wasn’t. I saw Lil’s head rise, her eyes narrowing, and then they were there, leaning over the little railing.

“Evening, ladies!”

There were three of them, one in a Chelsea shirt, another in an England football top and the spokesman in St George’s flag tee that left the lowest part of a hairy gut exposed.

“You English?”

Chelsea stage-whispered to Four Lions, “Apart from the Paki, course”, while George tried to charm us.

“Want some company, ladies?”

Amina had that poised look that always worried me, and her tone was brittly cheerful.

“We’ve already got company, thank you”

“Oh? Where they at, then?”

I caught the word ‘sheepshaggers’ from Chelsea just as Jenny rose from her seat with a whispered “Ladies’”, trotting off to the bar. My hearing was still on alert mode, for the next word that jumped out, from Lions, was ‘tranny’. Bugger. Amina was ramping up, well into attack mode.

“We’re our own company, thanks. Now, I’m sure you… LITTLE boys have got somewhere more important to be. Past your bedtime, I think”

George spread his arms wide, with an utterly false grin.

“Dykes!”

Lions held up a finger.

“That one’s a tranny, so does it count?”

Chelsea was swaying slightly.

“Dunno, lads. Need to see them do some dyking to be sure. Go on, then!”

Amina cocked her head.

“Go on what?”

“With tongues, yeah? Bit of snogging!”

“Why don’t you just fuck right off, you fat stinking English arsehole?”

“Bit rich from a fucking Paki rugmuncher!”

Just as he went to push over the railing, Jenny was back, this time with what were clearly a couple of kitchen staff, one of them with a meat mallet in his hand. Behind them stood what I assumed was the owner, who turned to us with a slight bow and then spoke politely, with a strong Birmingham accent.

“My apologies, ladies” were his first words, before he turned to the three men.

“I told you to fuck off two nights ago. I haven’t forgotten your faces, and I won’t. Fuck off now, while you still can, right?”

George tried to argue, but Lions was tugging his arm, and in the end all we got was a load more abuse, but thankfully they were retreating. Our real new friends stayed with us, the owner turning to apologise once more.

“Sorry, ladies. There’s always a few scrotes to spoil the atmosphere, but don’t let it put you off. You ordered your drinks?”

Lil nodded.

“Two bottles of cava, four glasses”

“Right. I’ll get that moving for you”

As he turned to leave, the first empty beer bottle smashed a few feet outside the fence, and he sighed.

“Never learn, do they?”

A second crash of breaking glass was followed by some shouting, and he pointed towards the three drunks, just as a squad of local police piled into them with what was clearly an excess of enthusiasm.

“I warned them two nights ago, and I warned them it would be the filth if they came back. Your mate Jen here, she gave me enough time to press the panic buzzer. Direct link to the local cop shop. That’s their holiday over, oh dear, how sad, never mind. Now, want some nibbles with your fizz? I’ll just get someone to clear that glass, and then we can all relax”

Jenny sighed.

“Can I REALLY go to the loo now?”

Once she was out of earshot, Lil leant in closer.

“Tranny, eh?”

Amina squeezed my hand, before bringing it to her lips for a kiss.

“It’s the PCOS, Lil. We get it a lot”

“Well, bloody good job Jen was at the bar, then. I haven’t punched anyone in years, but he was working me up to it”

I squeezed my wife’s hand in return, then smiled at the other woman.

“Which one were you going to punch?”

“Which one first, you mean? Does it matter? Oh, and I know you caught what Jen called me”

Amina and I looked at each other, and my beloved showed what had made me fall for her in her next question.

“Not putting you on the spot, Lil, but how do you feel?”

“Me? To be honest, a bit stupid. Marlene’s been on my case, all of Deb Prosser’s crew as well. I mean, just now; we’re getting ready for a punch-up, and she’s cleared off, just long enough to call the cavalry, though, and then she’s back with us. I mean, what more do I want?”

Amina smiled, so, so gently.

“And she wants you, Lil”

“Yeah. It’s that old imposter thing. I’m worthless, et cetera, et cetera, not good enough for her”

“And yet you are the one she says she loves, so you can’t be worthless, aye?”

“Aye. She’s on her way back, okay? Sort the glasses out, girls, while I do the cork”

She eased the first one with only the faintest of pops, the professional that she was, and poured the first round.

“Here’s to us, ladies, and to a lovely holiday, and one from me to you, Jen, my love”