She nodded. ‘It’s nothing. I’m fine. Just a cramp, or something. It’s passed.’
Daniel took her in his arms and held her close, kissing her head and smelling her hair.
When the bus arrived, they got on. Daniel looked out of the window as they moved through the outskirts of the city, past car dealerships, warehousing, industrial estates. In the story, Cooper never got the comeuppance he deserved. This was the thing, this was why he was annoyed. He invented this line about the baby, creating, in the minds of both the woman on the plane and the taxi driver, the experience of a trauma that in fact had not taken place. Cooper’s just desserts, Daniel realised, would have been to find himself suffering precisely the traumatic experience he had called into being for others.
‘What’s on your mind?’ It was Isla. She reached for his hand. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Just thinking about the bloody story I read on the plane.’
Soon enough, they were at Plaça de Catalunya. It was alive with people. They decided to walk to Josep’s apartment on Calle Valencia. They had a map and it didn’t seem far. It was about 11 o’clock. They strolled arm in arm through the evening crowds and Daniel at last felt the pleasant lassitude of heat and travel. This was what he had wanted from the outset: to be walking these streets, at this hour, with Isla at his side. The feeling washed over him at first, but then went deeper, as they caught sight of familiar things, half-forgotten, but no less powerful for that. There were restaurants they had eaten in, shops they had shopped in, buildings they had wondered at.
‘It’s good to be back,’ Isla said.
‘It is.’
As they left Passeig de Gràcia, the crowds thinned and they entered that region of Barcelona in which they had spent so much time wandering on their last visit, their honeymoon, ten years previously. Here, again, they saw the elegant apartment buildings, with their wrought-iron balconies, the intricate designs in the plaster. They felt, or at least Daniel felt, an immediate familiarity in that atmosphere of dusty night, the warm air, the shuttered shops, the little cafés still open, their tables set out on the street.
‘Do you remember all this?’ Isla said.
He smiled.
‘Why are you smiling?’
‘Because I was remembering all this just as you asked me.’
She squeezed his shoulder and they walked on, under the shadows of trees cast by the streetlamps, past the all-night florist, a chemist.
‘We were so convinced we would live here,’ Isla said. ‘Do you remember? I was going to get a job at the university.’
‘There’s still time,’ he said. ‘We still could.’
Isla didn’t say anything for a few paces and then squeezed his arm again. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We still could. Anything’s possible.’
As arranged, Josep was at his apartment to meet them. Daniel could hear his voice, crackly, through the intercom, as he buzzed them into the building. In the tiny elevator, so small that the two of them with their luggage could only just fit inside, Isla held her hand in front of her stomach and winced.
‘Is it that thing again?’
‘Yes. Just a little, you know.’
‘I know. Are you sure you’re all right?’
In the light of the elevator, her face was pale. He lifted her hair out of her eyes and felt her forehead.
‘There’s no fever.’
Josep met them at the door. Although Daniel had only met him on those one or two occasions in London he remembered him well, as if, although he hadn’t been conscious of it, Josep had occupied a considerable part of his subconscious mind. He didn’t appear to have changed. In fact, it’s possible he was even wearing then the same suit he had been wearing on the previous occasions Daniel had met him, a narrow blue two-piece, elegantly cut, and a crisp white shirt. His dark hair was, as it had been, cropped close, revealing a little bit of thinning at the forehead.
Josep embraced them both, Isla first and Daniel second, and then returned his attention to Isla, holding her face, cupping it in his hands.
‘Isla,’ he said. ‘You are here.’ When he said her name, his accent had the curious effect of making Daniel think that he was talking to someone else, someone who was not his wife but someone else’s, someone who he had not in fact met until that moment.
Suddenly, Isla buckled over in pain once again.
‘Isla!’ Josep said, stretching the second syllable. ‘What is it?’
Isla flicked her eyes in Daniel’s direction, before looking at Josep. ‘It’s nothing. Just a cramp.’
‘Are you sure, darling?’ Daniel said. He turned to Josep. ‘There was another one, at the airport.’
‘Then we should call a doctor,’ he said. ‘Of course.’ He spoke English very quickly, the words running into each other.
‘No,’ Isla said. ‘It’s not that bad. I just need a painkiller.’
‘Come on,’ Josep said, ‘follow me.’ He ushered her through to the bedroom, turning to Daniel to say that he could drop the bags there, where they stood, before taking Isla into what Daniel presumed was a bathroom. Daniel stood there for a moment, before following them through to the bedroom, where he put the bags on the bed. He stood and listened at the door of the bathroom, but beyond a vague murmuring of a male voice and then a female voice, he could make out little above the sound of the extractor fan.
Daniel went through to the main body of the apartment. It was extensive, stretching across the whole top floor of the building, a large living area at the front, a pair of chaises longues to one side, set at an angle to each other, and bookcases lining every wall. There were two balconies, with their shutter doors folded back. Daniel went over and stepped onto the balcony to the left. Across from where he was standing, there was another apartment building, more or less the same, the same shuttered windows, the same wrought-iron balconies, the same intricate detailing in the fascia. Again, he thought of their first trip, of how they had then aspired to live in just such an apartment block. He lit a cigarette. Perhaps because of the heat, the night, the street sounds and the familiar smells, it was easy to remember the pleasure they had felt on their honeymoon, the lightness and the gladness in their hearts – a kind of bursting sensation that had threatened to leave both of them in hysterics for no reason other than their happiness.
Daniel was thinking about this when Josep came to join him on the balcony. ‘I’m sure it is nothing serious, but I have called the doctor. Just to be safe. He lives quite close by. He will not be long.’ As Daniel motioned to go back into the apartment, he held up his hand. ‘No. Stay. Finish your cigarette. She is resting. I have given her an aspirin.’
‘What do you think it is?’
Josep smiled. ‘I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.’
‘But what do you think?’
‘I think it is nothing serious. Something with her stomach perhaps. She will be better after rest. The doctor will know. Maybe she’s pregnant.’
‘I think that’s unlikely,’ Daniel said, smiling.
‘Yes, of course. Would you like a drink?’
Josep returned with two tumblers of whisky. They stood on the balcony and drank.
‘Ten years,’ Josep said, raising his glass. ‘Amazing.’
‘Yes. It is.’
‘You know, when I first met you, I didn’t think you were good enough for her, for my Isla.’
‘But now?’
‘Now, I think you’ll do.’ Josep smiled. ‘You care for her very well. She tells me things. And this trip. It is obvious.’
‘I know how lucky I am,’ Daniel said. ‘Don’t think I don’t.’
Daniel turned away and leaned on the balcony edge, looking out at the apartment block opposite. Beneath them, despite the hour, traffic roared down the avenue. ‘I love it here,’ he said. ‘These apartment buildings.’
‘Yes. It’s not the same in London, I think. Here we can see right into people’s lives.’
Of all the windows in the building across from them, only two were lit. It was, after all, a Friday night and Daniel supposed that most of the occupants were either out, having dinner or drinks, or away from the city for the weekend. One of these windows, in the top right-hand corner of the building, gave on to a room that appeared to be lined from floor to ceiling with books, more like a library than an apartment. There was a man, or what Daniel thought to be a man, sitting at a desk, with a brass lamp, writing, or reading, or in some other way engaged in an activity for which sitting at a desk was necessary. In the other, lower down, two floors below, partially obscured by the half-open shutter door, a man lay on a sofa in his underpants watching a football match on a large television fixed to the wall.
‘You would like her, I think,’ Josep said.
‘Who?’
‘The woman at the desk.’
‘I thought it was a man.’
‘No. Woman. She is a professor. German. Quite well known in Spain. She has led a glamorous life. Her husband is an antiquarian book dealer from Colombia. You can visit his shop. It is just around the corner. I know him a little.’
‘And what about him?’ Daniel said, referring to the man in his underpants. ‘He is a man, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. He is.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘Nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.’
Standing there together, sipping their drinks, smoking, Daniel allowed himself to become engrossed in watching the young man. Really, he did very little. He watched the game, occasionally scratched himself.
At that moment, a buzzer rang.
‘That will be the doctor,’ Josep said, looking over the balcony, directly below. ‘Yes, it is him.’
Daniel looked over the balcony too. Beneath them, fifty or sixty or seventy feet down, there was a man in a black suit. He held in his hand a briefcase. At the kerb, a black car, quite large, old. A Jaguar, Daniel thought, or a Daimler. Josep shouted down and waved, before taking a last drag on his cigarette, flicking it over the balcony and turning back into the apartment.
They waited and listened as the lift hauled the doctor up to their level. He was a short man, glasses, beard, grey hair, which was slicked back over a well-tanned scalp. Daniel was introduced. The doctor and Josep spoke. Daniel thought that there were certain words that he recognised, like husband and London perhaps. The three of them went through to the bedroom. It was dark and Daniel stood leaning against the doorframe.
‘How are you darling?’ he said, as Isla raised her head.
‘Okay, I think. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. It’s ridiculous all this fuss.’
Josep then spoke to the doctor in Spanish. The doctor lifted Isla’s T-shirt and poked at her stomach, his small hands like paddles. Isla murmured when he reached a certain point. The doctor said something to Josep.
‘Can you describe what it feels like, Isla?’
‘Like a swelling, like there’s a ball in there or something.’
The doctor looked up towards Josep and nodded, after which Josep turned to Daniel and said that they should leave them – the Doctor and Isla – to it. The two of them then made their way back through to the living room.
‘It is okay,’ Josep said. ‘He thinks it is nothing serious. An inflammation, perhaps, something like that.’
‘Good.’
‘Another drink?’
‘Why not,’ he said.
Josep settled himself on one of the chaises longues and invited Daniel to sit on the other. As if understanding Daniel’s thoughts, he said: ‘It won’t be long.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m just a little anxious.’
‘Of course,’ he said.
There was silence between them for a minute as they both sipped their drinks. Daniel cast his eyes around the apartment. He was about to say something about it – about how nice it was, or how he liked it – when Josep spoke first.
‘What plans did you have for your trip?’
‘Well. We’ll have to see. It depends on Isla, but there were certain things I wanted us to do, repetitions of what we did on our honeymoon, or things we didn’t have time for. There was a place we visited last time we were here – over by the harbour, in Barcelonetta, hidden away down a back street, but I can’t remember the name. I think I could find it, if it’s still open. I think I have it in mind for us just to stumble over it and it to be the same as last time.’
At that point, Josep looked up. ‘Ah, the doctor.’
Daniel turned around and saw him standing on the threshold to the room. He stood with his feet together and his arms in front of him, the fingers of both hands meeting. Josep went over to him, but the old man beckoned him into the hall. Daniel strained to listen, but not only were they speaking a foreign language, they were also whispering.
‘Well,’ Josep said. ‘He thinks it is possible it might be an ulcer, but it is not serious. Isla should have it checked out when she gets home, but for now the doctor has given her something to help her sleep. She should be fine in the morning with rest, although rich foods won’t be a good idea if that’s what you had in mind.’
The doctor gathered his things. Daniel rose, went over to him and thanked him in Spanish. The doctor nodded, curtly, first to Daniel and then to Josep, before leaving. Again they stood for a moment listening to the workings of the lift.
‘Strange little man,’ Daniel said.
‘He is,’ Josep said. ‘But very good, reliable.’
Eventually, Josep started moving around the room, gathering various things, car keys, a wallet.
‘I would stay and keep you company,’ he said. But I have to go to my friend, to Katya’s. I am late and she has work early in the morning. You understand what I mean.’
Daniel nodded.
‘There is food in the fridge, if you are hungry, or’ – he walked past Daniel and out on to the balcony and pointed back down Valencia towards the centre of town – ‘there is a little place two blocks away, open late. It’s quite good. Steak and such.’
‘Thank you,’ Daniel said.
‘Here are the keys and, here, I’ll write down my number in case you should need to contact me.’
They shook hands near the door. ‘She’ll be fine tomorrow. Just you wait and see.’
Daniel thanked him and held the door open, casting light into the hallway, as Josep waited for the lift.
After Josep had gone, Daniel went through to the bedroom. Isla was already in bed, under a cotton sheet, curled, with her legs brought up to her chest. She looked up at him, the light from the hallway causing her to squint.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘What for?’
‘You know.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’
‘I was sick.’
‘You were sick?’
‘In the bathroom. I was sick.’
‘My poor baby,’ he said and rubbed her back. ‘And how do you feel now?’
‘I really don’t know. A bit zonked. I suppose I just need to give the pills time to work.’
In this position they remained, looking at one another in the half-light, not speaking.
‘What will you do?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. I might read. I might go out for a bite to eat.’
There was a pause. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind what?’
‘You’re not angry, I mean?’
‘Angry? God no.’
‘About this. About me being like this.’
‘I mind that you are like this, because I don’t want you to be ill, but I’m not angry. Not at all.’
‘In the morning I’ll be fine.’
‘You will. Now put your head down and get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.’
She put her head down on the pillow and he kissed her. He went through to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, then sat on the toilet seat. His own head was throbbing from the heat. In a cabinet under the sink, there were some pills, he took the last two and put the empty packet in the bin.
He went back through to the bedroom and knelt by the bed. He intended to speak to Isla, to tell her that he loved her and that he would be there, in the next room, if she needed him. His arm was on her shoulder, which was bare above the cotton sheet. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t move.
‘Are you awake?’ he said.
She didn’t respond.
Daniel stayed there for some minutes, looking at her face. In the end he didn’t do anything. He didn’t wake her or speak to her or anything. He just watched her sleep, the rise and fall of her body.
After a little while, he got up and left the room, taking the bag he had used as hand luggage with him. He remembered that he had left his book on the plane, then he remembered the story. He would have liked to read it again, if only to work out why it was stuck in his head. He thought about how ridiculous this was as he went to the fridge to see what food there was. There was some cured ham, some Manchego and some quince jelly. He put some of the ham and cheese on a plate along with a spoon of the jelly and carried it to the dining room table, where he sat with his back to the open doors of the balcony. Just as he was about to raise the first morsel of ham and cheese to his mouth, he caught sight of an open bottle of wine on the counter, next to the sink, and went back into the kitchen to fetch the wine and a glass, before returning to the table. He poured the wine. The food was good, just what he needed. After he had eaten, he carried the plate back through to the sink and rinsed it.
He was tired, but not sleepy. Not wishing to lie in bed, awake, with the danger that he might disturb Isla, he sat for a little while in the only armchair and drank the rest of the wine. He felt the oddness of unfamiliar territory – the late hour, Isla asleep and him awake. He couldn’t bring himself to read any of the books that lined the shelves of the apartment, most of which were in Spanish in any case. He went back out to the balcony.
The Best British Short Stories 2014 Page 21
