Hide and Seek

by Denver Murphy

  ‘But it’s culturally insensitive.’

  ‘I not know these words,’ he replied, shaking his head.

  With Johnson unable to explain that she now understood why speaking French to people living in the Flanders region of Belgium was wrong, she completed her order as quickly as possible. It didn’t stop her wondering what they did when actual French people visited the region, but she supposed it wasn’t so offensive when they were speaking their own language rather than assuming all Belgians were essentially French. She was also put in mind of her infrequent visits to Wales where she had always wondered the point of going to the effort of having all road signs in Welsh as well as English, given that everyone in Wales spoke English. She accepted now that it was less about linguistic ability and more cultural identity.

  Nevertheless, given how she was feeling that morning, she left the shop thinking she could have done without the lesson provided for her by the young man. She turned in the direction of the hotel and stopped suddenly. Perhaps the timing was more fortuitous than she realised. She rushed back to her car replaying the conversation she’d had with the detective when she first arrived at the station yesterday. She hadn’t picked up any kind of offence but, now she thought of it, his keenness to switch to English might not have been due to her rusty attempt at speaking French.

  He seemed genuinely surprised to see her again, not helped by the fact it appeared she had only returned to apologise for failing to realise he was Flemish.

  ‘Truly, it’s not a problem,’ he said, trying to reassure her. ‘We get that all the time.’

  ‘But the locals all speak Flemish,’ she responded hurriedly.

  ‘Yes, I know they can be a little, er… how you say, awkward. Just forget it.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. The email was in French!’

  The detective’s casual and easy-going nature, which had been useful yesterday, was now a source of annoyance for Johnson. He didn’t seem too fazed that a local would write in French and explained that they had checked the IP address and it came from Ghent. His response to her suggestion that it was too odd to ignore was met with a shrug that she would have described as Gallic, had it not been for what she had recently discovered.

  It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get him to agree to take them around to the address associated with the sending of the email but, once in the car, which she noted was a German Mercedes, rather than a French Peugeot, Renault or Citroen, he relaxed again. The sat nav guided them to a property on the outskirts of town, where an elderly gentlemen lived on his own. Whilst the detective spoke to him in Flemish, Johnson wondered whether he even owned a computer, but heard the word Skype a couple of times and didn’t need the translation that followed to understand that he had the internet so he could keep in touch with his grown-up children. The man confirmed that, as far as he was aware, no one else had used his computer recently nor, more significantly, had he been to the lake.

  With the detective seemingly satisfied with what he had heard, despite confiding to her in English that he expected nothing less considering the author of the email had clearly wanted to remain anonymous, Johnson turned to the man. ‘Habitez-vous ici longtemps?’ she asked, putting on her very best accent.

  All Johnson received in response was a blank look.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Brandt’s lasting impression from the day before was one of hope. The regret he felt at having to kill Julie had been brief and he instead concentrated on what his meeting with her had taught him. Benidorm was still a bit crass for his tastes, but he believed that, with the right person, he could become settled there; perhaps even happy. He wasted little time in coming up with his next plan. Even though a little research taught him there were many rastros similar to the market he had visited yesterday, a change of scenery would be sensible given what had happened. And yet the role of the newly arrived Brit, looking to explore the viability of moving out there long term, remained suitable, so he settled on visiting an auction house on the outskirts of town. From its basic website, clearly created by someone who had very little experience with IT, he saw that it was owned by an ex-pat and, from what he could gather, was frequented by his fellow countrymen.

  With the summer heat having already built to near intolerable levels by mid-morning, Brandt took a taxi rather than walk the mile or two there. Given his motivation for meeting someone was different to previous encounters, he didn’t feel the need to cover his tracks but didn’t call for the car to meet him at his villa; instead electing a little café down the road.

  The plain-looking warehouse seemed perfect and was already busy with people checking out the items for sale prior to the start of the auction. He began looking around, marvelling at the amount of interest the cheap tat on display seemed to be generating. None of it held even remote appeal to Brandt but he worked his way across the room, pausing occasionally to study one item or another. After a few minutes of doing this, and to avoid seeming too proficient, he put on a puzzled expression and became more haphazard with his search for goods to bid on.

  This new approach must have worked, because almost immediately a woman came up to him. ‘It can be a bit daunting at first,’ she said.

  He turned around to offer her a confused smile, taking in her dark tan that matched her brown hair and eyes. ‘Er yes, there’s so much to look through.’

  ‘It’s like this every time. It’ll all sell though, and next week there’ll be another load of stuff.’

  ‘Where does it all come from?’ Brandt asked, enjoying small talk for one of the very few occasions in his life.

  ‘Well, mostly house clearances, you see. There’s a number of guys who spend the week buying up items from people who are upgrading or just looking to move on. It’s mostly their stuff here and Gary, who owns this place, takes a cut from everything sold.’

  ‘Sounds like you come here often.’

  ‘Pretty much every week for the last two years. When I first moved out,’ Brandt noticed she spoke in the singular, ‘I came here to furnish my place but when I had done that, I just kept on coming.’

  ‘Why was that?’ He was genuinely intrigued. It was a hot day and, if he wasn’t here for a specific purpose, there were few places he could think of worse to spend time in.

  ‘I suppose I hate the idea that I might miss out on a bargain and, anyway, there’s the social side.’ Smiling, she regarded his raised eyebrow. ‘You tend to meet the same people up here every week but there’s always the new fish who help to keep things fresh.’

  Brandt considered what he had learned so far. He guessed that she was somewhere in her mid 50s but, effects of her tan aside, could probably pass for younger. Although he had come to consider himself more of a gentleman who preferred blondes, she suited her dark features. Everything she had said suggested she was single but liked meeting new people. So, all in all, very promising and, it would seem that his meeting of Julie yesterday hadn’t just been beginner’s luck.

  ‘David,’ he said offering her his hand.

  She gave a childish giggle at his formality. ‘Trish,’ she replied. ‘So, what brings you here, David?’

  ‘Well, I’m just looking really. You see, I’m currently considering moving out here permanently and am trying to decide whether to take the plunge and buy something outright or just rent for a while. If I do rent, it’s worth knowing if I should pay the extra for a furnished apartment or whether it would be better to pick up my own items.’

  ‘Oh, definitely worth getting your own,’ she replied animatedly. ‘There’s always some good stuff here and it’s dirt cheap compared to what you’d pay back home. Listen,’ she leaned in closer. ‘Take my advice and don’t over think it. Just take the plunge and move out here. You can feel your way as you go.’

  ‘Is that what you did?’

  ‘Yep, spur of the moment. I bought a caravan online and flew out the next day. Never looked back.’

  ‘You just went ahead and bought it?’ Brandt coul
d tell she was proud of her impetuousness and he wanted to allow her to string out her sharing of her experience.

  ‘Yep, no photos, just transferred over my €4,000 and booked my flight. Had a bit of a fright when I got here, mind, the previous owner hadn’t got around to telling the campsite manager yet, and he didn’t have a clue who I was! Thought for a moment I had been scammed or something. Turned out alright in the end though.’

  ‘Wow, that’s quite a story,’ he exaggerated. ‘I’m not sure I’m brave enough to do that.’

  ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life,’ she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Is that you regret the things you don’t do, more than the things you do.’

  He nodded in a manner he hoped looked sagely. ‘Very true. Are you still there now?’

  ‘Oh yes, absolutely!’ She beamed. ‘It was only meant to be a stop gap until I found a villa but once I did it up and added my own personal touch, I couldn’t stand to leave it. Plus, the atmosphere at the campsite is amazing. Everyone is so welcoming, it’s a lovely little community there. Have you considered buying a caravan?’

  ‘Well I er…’

  ‘Ah come on, Mr Snobby,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘Look I felt the same but, honestly, it’s nothing like what you expect from back home.’ She paused, offering him a broad smile. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I show you around when we’ve finished up here?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ he replied, meaning it. In the same way he had begun to revise his overall impression of Benidorm, perhaps his preconception of what the caravan sites would be like may also be wrong. Anyway, he welcomed the chance to spend a little more time in the company of Trish. She seemed friendly enough and he liked the way she hadn’t asked him any personal questions. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to seem too keen, so he excused himself and found a seat ready for the start of the auction.

  His initial interest in the swift delivery of Gary the auctioneer, and the pittance the items seemed to be sold for, quickly waned. If it had not been for Trish’s promise, Brandt would have discreetly made his exit long before the end. But when it was finally over, and the people started moving around to depart or to settle up for items they had purchased, he couldn’t spot her anywhere. Not usually very proficient in social situations, he started to wonder whether her offer had just been part of the small talk and disingenuous. But, as he stepped outside in the hope that he may find a taxi waiting rather than having to call for one, he spotted her smoking just off to the right. The relief he felt outweighed his revulsion at her foul habit.

  Brandt didn’t have to consider whether it would be appropriate to approach her because she immediately noticed him and offered an enthusiastic wave. ‘Oh, there you are, I was beginning to think I’d lost you,’ she called across.

  He smiled, unsure how to respond.

  ‘My car’s just over here,’ she gestured. ‘If you still want the grand tour that is.’

  He walked over and followed her to an old Seat Ibiza, whose dark blue paint had a mottled appearance. The stale smell of tobacco inside suggested that her decision to toss the remains of her cigarette before getting in was out of courtesy to him rather than any sort of care for the maintenance of her vehicle.

  This impression was confirmed by her somewhat erratic driving style. The journey passed pleasantly enough for Brandt though, enjoying as he did the cooling effects of the wind rushing through his open window and the effortless conversation dominated by Trish.

  He was similarly impressed by the sight that greeted him as they pulled into the caravan park. ‘It looks massive,’ he commented.

  ‘Sure is,’ she replied amiably. ‘There’s a number of these sites around Benidorm but this is the largest.’ To emphasise the point, she proceeded to drive to the top of the first road, so he could see how many similar rows stretched out to his left. Taking the next one back down, she parked near the entertainment centre at the front. ‘Thirsty work,’ she said, clearly having noticed the longing look he offered the bar area. ‘Let’s go and take a look at the pool first, shall we?’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he said, getting out of the car and regretting no longer being able to feel the rush of cooling air on his skin. He had barely a chance to admire the way the well-established trees provided a natural boundary, along with welcome shade between the pitches, when they arrived at the communal pool. It was as good as any he had seen, and he admired the way the grass surrounding it was lush and green.

  ‘A proper little oasis here,’ he said before looking around. ‘It’s a bit quiet though isn’t it?’

  Trish laughed. ‘I can tell you’re new to Spanish living. Most people go back to their homes for a siesta in the height of the day.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. All that metal and the effects of the sun? Well, most of us have air conditioning but those of us who have acclimatised tend to lie out under our awnings. Come, let me show you.’ Before he could respond, she grabbed his arm and led him into another of the park’s many lanes.

  In isolation the caravans themselves were far less impressive than the large static ones that dominated the sites back home, but it was what the residents had added that set them miles apart. What Trish had described as an awning didn’t do justice to the complex structures added as an extension to the small mobile homes. There were gardens too, often with exotic plants and flowers, and most places had their own small fencing surrounding their space. Brandt was starting to understand why Trish had decided to remain here, rather than go for one of the impersonal apartments closer to the town centre.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said as they arrived outside a particularly attractive plot. If she hadn’t told him what she had paid for the caravan itself, he would scarcely have believed you could get a place like this so cheap. ‘It took me nearly a year to get it how I wanted it,’ she said modestly, leading him through the gate and into a square room constructed out of canvas. It contained a large corner-style sofa with a throw and pink cushions scattered over it. Already it seemed nicer than the brief look he had at Julie’s house the day before. ‘In the summer I tend to sleep out here rather than the smaller accommodation inside, but I can see you’re suffering a bit from the heat so let’s go into the kitchen and I can get the air con cranked up.’

  ‘Too early for a gin, is it?’ Trish asked as soon as Brandt had followed her inside.

  Whisky may have been his spirit of choice but at that moment he could think of nothing he would like more. ‘Absolutely not,’ he said confidently, taking a seat in the small lounge area. He adjusted his position to be more in line with the cold air which had already started pumping through. As Trish rummaged round the cupboards before going into the fridge to collect the tonic water, Brandt couldn’t help but feel he had landed on his feet. It had never been his intention to leave Britain, much less to come to somewhere like Benidorm. And yet he had managed to turn what should have been a very negative situation, with how things had transpired in Nottingham, to his advantage. As Trish approached him, condensation forming on the glasses she held in each hand, and her light summer dress sashaying with her movement, he allowed himself a smug smile.

  Taking a long swig of the cool liquid and savouring the generous ratio of spirit to mixer, he didn’t notice that Trish had not only failed to sit but had also placed down her glass; its contents untouched. As he finally looked up, he didn’t have time to register the sound of her hands opening the zip at the back of her dress before it fell to the floor. He was shocked by the sight of her stood before him in just her white knickers; a stark contrast to the dark hue of her skin. This was the first time he had even considered her breasts but given how pert and youthful they looked, on reflection, he was not surprised that she hadn’t seen the need to wear a bra.

  ‘Like what you see?’ she asked, lifting her fingers to pinch her nipples; an action that saw them immediately stiffen. ‘I paid a lot more for these than I did for this place.’ The confidence she exuded
in sharing the fact she’d had cosmetic surgery was reflected in the way she regarded Brandt. ‘You look a little surprised?’ Her tone was playful but bordered on mocking.

  The truth was Brandt was stunned. He had expected nothing like this. When she had invited him in, it hadn’t even remotely crossed his mind that she was doing anything more than extending the tour she had offered him. But Trish didn’t wait for a response. She slowly sunk to her knees and expertly unbuttoned his shorts and unzipped the fly. He had barely processed what was about to happen when her mouth was enveloping him. The sensation was pleasant but counteracted by thoughts of how they had got to this stage. He considered the various comments he had made, trying to see how any of them could have been misconstrued as suggestive. But whilst he couldn’t find any specific examples, he did wonder whether the apparent ease of their conversation had hidden her true intention all along. Brandt hadn’t wanted this, he had sought companionship to combat the deep loneliness he was feeling in an unfamiliar town in an alien country; not to be used and no doubt discarded when he had served his purpose.

  He looked down to see her working away on him energetically, suddenly embarrassed at his inability to find the required physical response to her attention. As she suddenly sat up and his penis flopped back onto his testicles, he feared the worse. ‘There’s no rush,’ she whispered soothingly, standing up and then slipping off her knickers. She stood before him, his head at the perfect position to take in what had been revealed. Aside from a faint scar he assumed to be from a long-ago caesarean section, her skin was as near flawless as her stomach was flat. The way she waited patiently whilst he regarded her perfectly trimmed pubic hair suggested a total comfort in her own appearance. But what she didn’t know was that, rather than stimulate Brandt, it only heightened his anxiety. For her to demonstrate such care in her appearance, especially in an area so private and that could only have been shaved as recently as this morning, added to the feeling that he was merely being used. What she had said about going to the auction to meet people he realised had hidden a deeper truth where she used it to feed her sex addiction. A voice in his head spoke out to suggest that, even if it were the case, he should be flattered that someone as particular as her should select him, but an even louder one told him she would soon realise her faith had been misplaced if he continued not to perform.