Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set

by Twead, Victoria

  ‘This man, Pedro, he does know the law. I daresay he has done this many times before. As for the court case, do not worry, I will represent you. I doubt that Pedro will even show up, in which case the charge will be thrown out. But your immediate problem is how to get your friend’s apartment back, yes?’

  We nodded.

  ‘The problem is this. Because there is no end date stated on the contract, he is legally allowed to stay there until he finds somewhere else. By Spanish law, you can’t evict someone if it means they’ll be homeless. I’m assuming he says he has nowhere else to go, yes?’

  We confirmed the fact.

  ‘Because this is the owner’s second home, she can’t claim that she is being made homeless by his living there. In the eyes of the law, he has more right to have that roof over his head than the owner.’

  ‘So what can we do? There must be a way that we can get rid of him,’ said Joy, exasperated.

  ‘Oh, there is. We can file a denuncia, take him to court and have him re-housed. We can start proceedings now, if you like.’

  ‘Okay, let’s do that,’ I said, pleased that is seemed like a step forwards.

  ‘But there’s one catch,’ said Josephine. ‘It will take anywhere from two to five years.’

  ‘We can’t wait that long.’ Joy had stood up, the anger rising again. ‘I have to get him out. It’s not my apartment. Siobhan will kill me.’

  ‘Unfortunately the law always favours the tenant in these circumstances,’ explained Josephine. ‘I’m sorry.’ She raised her palms in defeat.

  We rose to leave.

  ‘Let me talk to Señor Santana,’ she whispered, holding the door open. ‘Wait outside for a minute.’

  We sank back into the sofa, dejected, despondent and defeated. My mind flicked to the shopping list under the microwave. Denuncia or no denuncia, it was fast becoming the only option.

  Joy had her head in her hands. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like asking Micky to sort him out. I hadn’t told Joy about the list. She was more likely to utilise the services than me, happy to ignore the future consequences. However, my logic told me that once we crossed that line we would be different people. We also didn’t know if Pedro had connections. Having him beaten up may well have sparked gangland retribution. At this moment of last resorts, I was just pondering whether to tell her anyway when Josephine came out of the office and sat in an armchair next to us.

  ‘There is another way,’ she started, ‘but you didn’t hear it from me, okay?’

  We both nodded, intrigued as she told us about the unofficial plan B.

  Siobhan was in tears when Joy phoned to say that we’d failed to get the squatters to move out. Fortunately we had managed to find alternative accommodation for her friends in an apartment in the Altamira. A mutual friend had heard of our plight and offered to lend us her apartment for a nominal fee. Naturally this fee was to be paid by us, in addition to the lawyer’s fee and any fines we may incur over the denuncia.

  Siobhan’s mood did lighten however when we told her about the plan, and even though it meant that she would have to get on a plane to Tenerife herself, she was somewhat heartened that action was now being taken. In the meantime, we had appointed a “team of detectives” to find out more about the couple of squatters.

  Barry was put on static surveillance duty, keeping track of the movements in and out of Siobhan’s apartment. He stationed himself at a bay window seat in Mrs Tanner’s apartment, diagonally opposite Siobhan’s. Not only did he have a clear view of the steps leading up to the one and only entrance to the apartment but he also had an unlimited supply of tea and home-made scones that Mrs Tanner forced on him with remarkable regularity.

  Wayne was assigned to tail Pedro in the Smugglersmobile (when we weren’t loading it with beans and tuna). We were curious to find out what the Spaniard did during the day and whether he worked or not. Wayne, not one of the world’s most patient characters, said he would have preferred to just beat him up and torture our requirements out of him. I explained that this would invariably lead to me being arrested and thus he would more than likely be out of a job with us.

  Frank took on the last of our tasks, accompanied by his detective sidekick and Spanish translator, Danny. They were to take the Polaroids to the Hotel Conquistador and make enquiries as to whether the Czech girl was actually working there.

  For our part, in between running the bar and making sure that Siobhan’s friends were alright, we had to buy a list of items that were necessary for the implementation of plan B.

  The first to report back with a breakthrough was Wayne. He’d followed Pedro to an apartment in Las Americas. After abandoning the car for a closer look, he’d seen Pedro opening the apartment with a key and leaving several hours later in different clothes.

  ‘It seems like the slimy fucker has another home,’ he beamed. This was a big breakthrough and was the first bullet we needed in the gun that was going to get rid of the two unwanted guests.

  I flipped the lid off a bottle of Newcastle Brown for a job well done. As Wayne glugged down the contents, Frank trudged in with Danny in tow. He tossed the Polaroid on the bar.

  ‘Nobody’s ever seen her before down at the Conquistador. She doesn’t work there now, never has.’ It was bullet number two.

  At the courts in Granadilla, a small army of wrong-doers and wrong-done-tos lined the curving staircase leading up to the two courtrooms. Both sides exchanged furtive, and some not-so-furtive, glances. Josephine joined Joy and I at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Any sign of Pedro,’ asked Joy?

  ‘No, I’ll be very surprised if he shows up,’ she replied. ‘Give me the photo you took of him, I’ll ask some of my colleagues if they know him.’

  A quarter of an hour later she was back.

  ‘Just as we thought. Our friend Pedro is well known up here. He’s a professional.’

  Just then a clerk called our names and we entered the courtroom. The wooden floors creaked as we edged into a church pew facing a large arched window. In front of the window sat a man in his senior years. I thought he was sleeping, until he lifted his head to peer at us for a moment before continuing to study a ream of papers I could now see were resting on his lap.

  ‘That’s the judge,’ said Josephine.

  Unlike the theatre of British courtrooms, curly grey wigs and schoolteacher cloaks were conspicuous by their absence. Instead, the man wore an open-necked, pale blue shirt under a slate grey jacket. A trio of ancillary workers busied themselves with their own paperwork, glancing at the judge occasionally to check if he was ready to proceed. He finally gave one the slightest of nods. An attendant cleared his throat and gave what I presumed was a summary of the case. The judge peered up again without lifting his head and mumbled something in Spanish. Josephine replied, indicating our presence with her hand. He then read out Pedro’s name and waited for a response. Josephine said something back, to which the judge let out a long sigh and with his eyes still studying the paperwork, shooed us from the court with the back of his hand.

  ‘That’s it. It’s over,’ said Josephine as we closed the courtroom door behind us.

  ‘That’s it? I repeated.

  ‘Pedro didn’t show up so the case was thrown out. I spoke with the judge before we went in. He’s dealt with Pedro’s games before. He knew he wouldn’t show up again.’

  Relief swept through me as we ran down the handful of steps outside the court. Pedro had gained nothing but he had cost us half a day of our time, several sleepless nights and the equivalent of two hundred pounds for Josephine’s representation.

  We had less than an hour to get back to the bar in time for opening. Our resolve to defeat him was strengthened as we sped back to El Beril. We passed through a succession of tiny white hamlets, thoughts of our own justice masking the beauty of Tenerife’s pretty interior.

  Black-frocked widows standing in low doorways paused their chatting to watch a car of foreigners speeding through their vi
llage. A huddle of old men, sat on a bench beneath the shade of a sprawling laurel tree, eyed our hasty progress, shaking their heads disdainfully at this intrusion of fast forward in their world of slow motion.

  We were not only in a rush to open the bar in time for the first wave of hungry holidaymakers but also we wanted to find out if Barry had gathered enough information to enable us to put the plan into action tomorrow.

  First through the doors, as expected, was Siobhan. Pedro’s abhorrent smugness had petrified our own anxiety into solid anger. Siobhan was without this advantage and was still clearly shaken at the events.

  She was trembling, her face pale and drawn. From the puffiness round her eyes, it was obvious she had been crying on the plane. Although she preferred to portray a hard edge, it was merely protection, sheltering fraught nerves and an edgy temperament.

  Living in Northern Ireland during the troubles, especially when married to a British soldier, had wreaked havoc on her emotions and like many in the same situation, she had withdrawn deeper into her own personal bomb shelter.

  None of the rage she had spat down the phone was evident now that the reality of confrontation was close. Instead of anger as a companion, she had brought her son-in-law and introduced us to him.

  We had met Terry once before when he had stayed in Siobhan’s apartment with his fiancée, her daughter, for a week earlier in the season. They shared a common shyness as well as love and we hadn’t seen much of them. But this time, the timidity was gone. He had shaved his head and the roundness of his body had been squared off, taut in every way, including his manner.

  ‘How y’doing?’ he said, accepting a handshake and without a smile.

  ‘Terry insisted on coming,’ explained Siobhan. ‘I said there was no need, we were getting it sorted, but he wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘I’m going to teach that fucking slimeball a lesson,’ said Terry. The muscles on his jawbone throbbed as he clenched his teeth. He looked like he was going to explode.

  ‘Hold on, Terry,’ said Joy. ‘We’ve just come back from court today. We can’t just wade in. This guy knows what he’s doing. If we lay one finger on him Joe and I will be back in front of the judge again and this time we might not be so lucky. Let’s just stick to the plan and then, down the line, when the dust has settled, you can do whatever you like.’

  ‘Alright, but if I see him I can’t promise he won’t get a smack,’ said Terry. ‘Just keep him away from me.’

  Joy gave Siobhan a key to our apartment. They were staying with us, hopefully only for a night if things went according to plan tomorrow.

  ‘Tuesday 8.13 a.m., white Caucasian male leaves apartment.’

  Barry was reading from a small, black notebook he had bought for “the operation”. ‘Tuesday 9.15 a.m., white Caucasian female leaves apartment.’

  ‘Tuesday 5.10 p.m., white Caucasian female …’

  ‘Barry?’ Joy interrupted.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Call them Pedro and the Czech girl, will you?’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Right, where was I? Ah, yes. Tuesday 5.10 p.m., white Cau… sorry… Czech girl and Pedro arrive back at the apartment together. Wednesday 8.10 a.m., Pedro leaves. At 9.22 a.m. the Czech girl leaves. Thursday is the same, give or take five minutes.’

  ‘Thanks Barry. That’s great. We now know when the apartment’s unoccupied,’ said Joy.

  ‘Unless they break the routine tomorrow,’ I added. We exchanged glances.

  ‘We’ll just have to hope they don’t, then,’ said Joy.

  CHAPTER 19

  At 9.30 the following morning, Joy, Siobhan, Terry, Wayne, Frank and I were sitting in Roger’s apartment, waiting for Barry to inform us that the squatters had left. An hour later, there was still no word.

  I sneaked out of the apartment, careful not to be seen from Siobhan’s balcony, which looked down on Roger’s front door. Having taken a wide detour around the swimming pool to avoid any danger of being spotted, I knocked quietly at Barry’s lookout post. After a few seconds, Mrs Tanner opened the door. She tilted her head and beamed radiantly.

  ‘Tea?’ she enquired, holding aloft a small brown teapot.

  ‘Ah, no, no thanks. Is Barry here?’

  ‘Yes, come in, he’s just finishing his breakfast.’ I followed Mrs Tanner inside. Barry was sat at a table in the bay window finishing off the last remnants of a full fry-up. Three grey-haired ladies sat with him, watching his every mouthful. On seeing me, he started to choke on a piece of bacon rind. Mrs Tanner strode over and gave him a hearty whack between the shoulder blades.

  ‘I… err… I was just coming to tell you,’ he spluttered. ‘They’ve left.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About half an hour ago. Elsie here, was kind enough to make me breakfast while I was on stakeout. It would have been rude to refuse.’’ He looked at me apologetically. I rolled my eyes. Mrs Tanner gazed at Barry lovingly, then turned back to me.

  ‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it? Would you like some breakfast before you…how did you put it, Barry… storm the apartment?’ I politely declined. It was no surprise that Barry was happy to spend so much time watching Siobhan’s with Mrs Tanner fussing over him. He’d obviously dramatised the situation, as Mrs Tanner had invited round several friends to watch the action.

  ‘When are you smashing down the door?’ asked one of them, excitedly.

  ‘Err… as soon as Barry’s finished his toast,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, good. I’ll get my Kodak ready,’ she replied.

  Barry followed me back to Roger’s apartment, where the rest of the group were growing anxious, particularly Siobhan.

  ‘If we don’t do something soon,’ she whispered, ‘Terry’s going to start without us.’ I looked over at Terry who was outside, pacing up and down the small patio at the back of the apartment.

  ‘Right, Barry says they’ve gone, so if everybody’s ready, let’s go.’

  Terry shot in from the patio and was already opening the front door to leave the apartment. I grabbed his arm.

  ‘Remember Terry, you can have him after we’ve sorted this out.’

  Terry just grunted, picking up the holdall he had left at the entrance.

  We marched in unison up two short steps of stairs and around the block to Siobhan’s apartment. I motioned to the others to stay at the bottom while I quietly climbed the stairs leading up to Siobhan’s door. After checking that there were no signs of life within, I called the others up.

  Terry was first. He scaled the 20 or so stairs in just four bounds. In one swift motion, he pulled a portable drill out of the holdall and dropped the bag on the floor. Barry and Wayne were keeping watch either way at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘All clear?’ I hissed.

  Just as they both gave the thumbs up, my mobile rang. It was Joy. She’d gone to the top of Cardiac Hill to keep watch on the road. I put my hand on Terry’s arm to halt him.

  ‘He’s coming back,’ she hissed, ‘Pedro’s on his way back.’

  ‘Quick,’ I shouted to the others. ‘He’s coming back. Everybody back to Roger’s.’

  Wayne, Barry, Frank, Siobhan and Roger scattered like sprayed cockroaches but Terry was taking his time putting the drill back in the bag.

  ‘You’ll get your chance later, Terry. You agreed to do it my way first.’ I grabbed the bag and pushed him towards the stairs. After just five minutes poised behind the front door of Roger’s apartment, Joy phoned again to say Pedro had left again.

  We all filed out and assumed our previous positions. Terry carefully positioned the drill bit over the lock and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He shook the drill and slapped it a few times but still it refused to work.

  ‘Fucking thing. Battery’s dead.’

  I was just about to ask, rather belatedly, whether he had charged it when my phone rang again.

  ‘I have king prawn this week. You want?’ It was Captain Birdseye, our fish deliveryman.

  ‘Err…no thanks.’

/>   ‘It’s very fresh.’

  ‘No, that’s okay.’

  ‘How about swordfish?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Nice swordfish steaks. You try?’

  ‘No, listen, I’ll call you back, okay?’ I snapped shut the case and pondered the new dilemma. ‘We need an extension lead,’ I shouted to the five at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘I’ve got one!’ shouted Siobhan.

  ‘Great. Can you get it quickly?’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, I’ll…oh…it’s in my apartment.’ Everybody turned to look at her.

  ‘Well, go and get it then,’ said Barry. He fluttered his hands at Siobhan, urging her on.

  ‘My apartment. The one we’re trying to get into,’ explained Siobhan.

  ‘Ah,’ said Barry after a moment of pondering.

  ‘I’ll get mine,’ said Roger. He bounded back around to his apartment.

  ‘Barry, will you see if we can plug it in at Mrs Tanner’s, then run the cable through the window? I pointed up at the bay window where four ladies were waving cheerily. We all waved back, dutifully.

  With power restored, Terry began drilling the lock, ending what little discretion we had so far managed with a banshee squeal of twisting metal. After three choruses of high-pitched whining he managed to dismantle the lock and pushed the door open.

  ‘We’re in!’ I waved the others up. My own preconception of what a squat would look like was immediately extinguished. Gone were Siobhan’s family portraits and screen stars pictures. But instead of geometrical dust lines signalling their departure, new pictures and wall hangings had been hung in their place. The living room furniture had been rearranged around a new sunset-coloured rug and beanbags were scattered throughout the room. It was quite an improvement on Siobhan’s design but I thought better than to mention it.

  ‘The cheeky bastards,’ said Siobhan, surveying “the carnage”. ‘They’ve changed everything around.’

  ‘I think it looks better,’ said Barry. His abysmal bar skills were only matched by his abhorrent lack of diplomacy.