by Daiko, SC
“I’ll lend you some Euros,” I pat her on the arm. “We have insurance, so you’ll be able to make a claim and repay me later.”
“Aw, thanks, Miss Matthews,” she beams. “You’re the best teacher ever.”
Her words warm my heart, but they’re not true. I’m a terrible teacher. Good teachers don’t lust after one of their pupils.
Half an hour later, we’re learning the zapateo, planting our toes down before clicking our heels back on the floor, and then reversing the movement, heels before toes. Our instructor is a tall, gypsy-looking woman with long, black hair and arched eyebrows. Things get interesting when we’re taught the more complicated toe/ heel… heel/toe steps, and the boys are struggling to coordinate their feet.
“Aw, Miss,” Josh moans. “Can we sit this one out and just let the girls do it?”
“Equality between the sexes,” I remind him.
Aled, who has managed the moves with no problems, reminds Josh that the girls play rugby so the boys have no excuse.
Tip, tap, top; tip, tap, top on the parquet floor, and, when we add the clapping of our hands, it’s indescribable.
“Wow, this is so cool,” Eleri squeals.
I’m watching Ryan in the periphery of my vision, enjoying seeing him out of school uniform, low-slung jeans hugging his rounded ass, t-shirt tight against his defined pecs. He’s a good dancer, there’s clearly rhythm in his soul. But I know that already, of course. Oh, God…
We return to our hotel, managing not to lose anyone, and go to the plaza after our evening meal. I give the kids free-time to wander around on their own, provided they stay in groups, and I sit in a bar with Meg and Aled, trying not to worry.
Our server brings us the beers we ordered, and a plate of olives to share. Aled pulls a face. “I can’t stand olives.” He gets to his feet. “I’ll go find out if they have any chips.”
Meg and I clink bottles. “Well done for organizing the dance class,” she says, “and for a fab first day. The kids are having a blast and speaking loads of Spanish.”
“So far so good,” I blow out a long slow breath. “But I’m not counting my chickens until we’re safely back in Wyemouth. I know it will look good on my CV that I’ve run a school trip. Only I can’t help worrying something might go wrong.”
“I know what you mean,” she sighs. “No amount of risk-assessment can cover every eventuality. Try not to worry… it will be fine.”
“I hope so, Meg. You, me and Aled make a good team.”
“There can be no doubt about that.”
I watch Aled walk towards us, a bowl of chips in his hand. He gives me a cocky grin, and I return his smile. I’ve tried to fancy him; really, I have. But each time I focus on his rugged face, another face comes into my mind… denim blue eyes and a bad-boy smirk.
The first three days of our visit to Spain go by without any problems; on day one we visit El Escorial, the royal palace built by Philip II in the 16th Century, travelling in a hired bus; on day two we travel to the beautiful old town of Segovia, where we explore the castle. Today, we’ve been to Parque Warner, not the most Spanish of experiences (a global amusement park), but the kids have enjoyed riding on the rollercoasters and they’ve had fun.
I’m asleep in my room when loud pounding wakes me. I reach for my glasses and glance at my watch... it’s bloody three a.m.! I roll out of bed and stumble to the door. Aled is standing on the other side, his face a picture of concern.
“Sorry to wake you, Beth. But you need to call an ambulance. My Spanish isn’t up to it.”
My blood turns to ice. “Oh, my God! What’s wrong?”
“It’s Josh. I heard a noise and found him staggering down the corridor. When I asked him what he was doing, I couldn’t get a coherent word out of him.” Aled wipes a hand across his forehead. “The smell of alcohol on his breath was overpowering. I took him back to the room he’s sharing with Ryan, woke Ryan up, and Josh started convulsing. He’s fallen into a deep sleep now and neither Ryan nor I can wake him.”
My heart practically beats out of my chest. Alcohol poisoning can be fatal.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” I stutter. “Then I’ll meet you in their room.”
I grab the school’s cell phone and dial 112. Then I fling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pick up my bag, and race down to the first floor. The receptionist makes an unhelpful comment about kids being kids, but says he’ll direct the paramedics to Josh and Ryan’s room when they arrive. “Gracias,” I manage to say before running back upstairs.
Josh is lying on his side, on a narrow single bed, head tilted back, but out cold. Oh, good God!
Ryan looks up at me, white-faced. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he’d go on drinking. We had a couple of swigs of Bacardi before bed and then I crashed.”
“Where’s the bottle?” Aled asks, scanning the room.
“I don’t know, sir,” Ryan’s says, spreading his hands wide. “It seems to have disappeared.”
I get down on my knees and look under the bed. The bottle is there. Empty. Shit!
After handing it to Aled, I perch on the bed next to Josh. “God, I hope the ambulance gets here quick.”
“Will you be okay to go to the hospital with him?” Aled asks. “I’d go myself, but you know I can’t string a sentence together in Spanish.”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to come with you,” Ryan begs. “Josh is my friend.”
“Good lad,” Aled says before I can respond. “I’m sure Miss Matthews will appreciate your support.”
Footsteps pound down the corridor, and the paramedics burst into the room. They check Josh’s vital signs and slip an oxygen mask over his face. Then they lift him onto a gurney and secure his head with straps.
“It will be alright, Beth,” Aled says calmly, and I’m grateful for his composure. “Josh is tough. He’ll pull through, I’m sure.”
I can only nod; my mouth has gone dry.
Within minutes, Ryan and I are in the ambulance, speeding across the centre of Madrid. “Do you think they’ll pump out his stomach?” he asks.
I run a hand through my tangled bed-hair. Josh is lying so still, and his face is so pale. “I don’t know.” I pause, meeting Ryan’s gaze. “Why do you think he did it?”
Ryan exhales slowly. “He’s got it bad for Catrin. Today, at the theme park, he followed her around like a love-sick puppy. But she didn’t wanna know. I guess he drank to drown his sorrows.”
“I’ll have a word with her,” I say quietly. “If she’s been unkind to him, she’ll have me to answer to.”
We arrive at Urgencias. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me, and I fight to swallow it down. Ryan takes my hand, squeezes it; and I let him, his warm touch a comfort.
I give Josh’s passport and European Health Insurance Card to the hospital receptionist before he’s wheeled into a curtained-off area. A nurse takes a syringe of blood. Ryan and I sit on uncomfortable chairs next to his bed, and wait.
“How can Josh have ignored all the education he’s received?” I say to Ryan. “He should know about the dangers of alcohol poisoning.”
“He probably wasn’t thinking.”
“Damn right he wasn’t.”
“I didn’t realise he was so upset.” Ryan holds my hand again, but drops it when the nurse returns.
“We think he’ll just sleep it off,” she says. “There is a high level of alcohol in his blood, but not enough to make us call for a stomach pump. Will you be able to stay with him until he wakes up?”
“Of course,” I say.
I watch the nurse leave, and, closing my eyes, allow myself to feel a sliver of hope. Ryan’s chair is pushed against mine in the small cubicle. I’m hyperaware of his closeness; his musky scent tickles my nostrils, and the heat from his body burns where our thighs touch. A tingle starts in the pit of my belly and makes its way down to my core.
I’m suddenly tired, so very tired, and I feel myself drifting off. Ryan puts his arm
around me. I lean against him, beyond caring if anyone were to see; I’m completely and utterly exhausted.
The sound of loud snoring wakes me. It’s Josh. “Need a piss,” he mutters, opening his eyes.
Oh, thank God!
“I’ll go call the nurse,” I say, pulling back the curtain around his bed.
I relay the message and go to the bathroom. After using the facilities, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Christ, I look a mess. Dark shadows under my glasses, and my hair! My hair wouldn’t look out of place at a witches’ convention.
Back in the curtained-off cubicle, a tired-looking doctor pronounces Josh out of danger. “We’ll keep him here until this evening to monitor him,” he says.
“Would you like me to stay with Josh?” Ryan asks. “You can go to Toledo with the group, as planned.”
“Thanks, Ryan,” I say, fighting the urge to kiss him in gratitude. “Let’s exchange cell phone numbers so you can let me know how he’s getting on.”
I fish around in my bag for the school phone, the one given to me for the duration of the trip. Shit, I must have left it in my room after I called for the ambulance. My fingers clasp my new Samsung. Teachers aren’t supposed to exchange private phone numbers with their students, but this is an emergency. We can delete the numbers tomorrow, I tell myself.
8
Josh crashes out again, and I’m bushed... and I’m also pissed-off at him. Joder, he could have died. On Beth’s watch. It was clear her heart was breaking while he was in danger. I bunch my hands into fists. How could he have been so fucking stupid?
Tiredness washes through me and soon I, too, have crashed out. I don’t know if it’s been hours or minutes when I’m woken up by a groan from Josh’s bed.
“Where am I?” he murmurs.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, and lean towards him. “You’re in hospital.” My voice is groggy. “You nearly killed yourself with alcohol.”
“Oh, shit,” he groans, and falls straight back asleep.
At around midday he’s awake again. The tired-looking doctor from last night has gone off-duty, replaced by a gruff middle-aged woman with pursed lips and the hint of a moustache. She examines him and asks if he’s hungry.
“Starving,” he says.
“I’ll send in some lunch for you and your friend. We’ll check you over again later this afternoon. You’ve been extremely lucky, young man. Just a few more grams of that rum and we’d have had to pump your stomach.”
“I don’t remember anything,” Josh groans.
“You drank more than half a fucking bottle of Bacardi, dipshit,” I can’t help saying.
He puts a hand to his forehead. “Jesus, it’s comin’ back to me now.”
The doctor takes her leave, and I go with Josh to the bathroom.
Standing next to him at the urinals, I mutter, “You are so fucked-up, hombre. Letting a chick fucking get to you like that.”
He grimaces. “I know. But I can’t help it. I’ve known Cat since we were at primary together. She was a skinny kid with braces until last year. We used to get on so well. Now she’s gorgeous and I can’t even talk to her I get so fucking tongue-tied. It’s doin’ my head in.”
“You gotta lighten up, twatface,” I scowl, shaking my dick. “Flirt with other girls. Make her jealous.”
“That won’t work,” he groans. “Won’t make any difference she’s so fucking wrapped in you.”
“I’ll talk to her, and tell her I’m not interested. This has gone on fucking long enough.”
We return to Josh’s bed area, and he sits on the chair next to mine.
“I don’t get it,” he frowns.
“What do you mean?”
“Cat’s a hot babe. Clearly, she likes you. Why aren’t you fucking interested? You don’t… you don’t swing the other way, do ya?”
“Fuck, no. I like women.”
“So, what’s the fucking problem?”
“I like older women.”
“Whoa! Seriously?” His mouth flaps open.
I tell him about my experiences at home, about the clubs and the foreign ladies.
“Fucking hell, man,” he releases a belly laugh. “Who’d have thought?”
Lunch arrives in the form of a hearty soup, with potatoes, vegetables and pulses. Scalding hot, it comes in thick white china dishes, scorching to the touch, and it tastes delicious. We balance our trays on Josh’s bed, and pull our chairs up to it like it’s a table. There’s even a second course, grilled fish, and a dessert of what’s known as flan, which is kinda like crème caramel.
We finish eating, and a hospital orderly clears our trays. Josh stretches out on the bed again, obviously ready for another nap.
My cell phone gives a sudden ring. Beth. I pick up. “Hola, Miss,” I can’t disguise the warmth in my voice. “Josh is doing great. How’s Toledo?”
“Tiring,” she says, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Will he be okay to come back to the hotel tonight?”
“I think so. We’ll get a taxi after they discharge him.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Ryan. Thanks for helping out.”
“You’re welcome, Miss.”
I sign off and catch Josh eyeing me. “What?”
“You like her. You fucking like our teacher.”
“So? No fucking law against that.”
“You wanna fuck her. I can tell from the look on your face.” His gaze travels down to the tent in my joggers. “And from your fucking hard-on.” He whistles. “Jesus. Fucking. Christ.”
I punch him on the arm. “If you breathe a fucking word about this I’ll kill you,” I growl, only half-joking.
He holds up his hands. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Joder, douchebag, there’s no fucking secret. Nothing’s going on. Miss Matthews is totally professional.”
“Ah, but you’d like there to be something, wouldn’t you?” he grins.
I don’t respond. Don’t need to. I’m sure he can see the lustful glint in my eyes.
The next day, we’re at the airport, and there’s a one hour delay on our flight to Bristol. Those who haven’t spent all their money hit the shops. Josh and I are totally spent-out, so we take a seat in the waiting area and gaze at the planes landing and taking off.
Josh was discharged from the hospital after his bloods revealed he’d cleared the alcohol from his system. Mr Davis gave him a stern lecture, and made him sit with the teachers instead of with his classmates while we ate dinner. I’m so screwed-up that I’d envied him, fucking envied him sitting at the same table as Beth.
I’m watching Beth out of the corner of my eye now as she browses the magazines in a newsstand. Suddenly, she turns on her heel and strides up to us.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please,” I say, shuffling forwards in my seat.
Josh appears tongue-tied, as per fucking usual. But I know he’s apologized to Beth several times for binge-drinking, or at least he told me he has. I scowl at him. Dickhead!
“I had a chat with Catrin earlier on,” Beth smiles, “and she’s sorry for upsetting you, Josh. She likes you and considers you a good friend.”
“Just a friend?” The angst in his voice wrenches my gut.
Beth shoots him a compassionate look. “Can I give you a piece of advice?”
He nods, slowly, and his shoulders slump.
“Continue to be her friend.”
“That’s it?”
“Friendships sometimes turn into something deeper. More often they don’t. But at least you’ll still be friends.”
Josh blows out a breath. “Thanks, Miss Matthews. I’ll try and remember that.”
“Good,” Beth gets to her feet. “Listen out for the flight being called. I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”
We watch her march away from us, her gorgeous ass encased in tight black jeans. “Fuck, she’s hot,” Josh sniggers.
I grab him in a headlock. “Take your fucking eyes off her,” I gro
wl. “She’s mine.”
It feels strange to be back in Wales after the hustle and bustle of Madrid. Instead of shouted Spanish conversations echoing around me, there’s the lilt of the Welsh accent. Instead of Spanish road signs, there are bilingual English-Welsh ones. Instead of listening to fucking Josh snore fit to wake the fucking dead, I’m alone in my room, stretched out on my bed… staring at my cell phone.
Will Beth be at home, on her own? If I ring her, will she pick up? And, if she does, will she insist I delete her number from my contacts?
Play the long game, Ryan. Play the long game.
A knock at my bedroom door interrupts my thoughts. “Come in!”
It’s Mam. The first thing she said to me when I stepped through the front door was that she’d managed to get a job at last, even if it’s only part-time, and will start on November first. She should be smiling from ear-to-ear, except she isn’t. Her face is pale, her eyes filled with worry.
She perches next to me on my bed. “I’ve just had an email from Manuel.”
My stomach clenches, and I sit bolt upright. “And?”
“You-know-who seems to have left the island.”
“Oh, shit. Is Manuel sure?”
“He said we should be vigilant. And, at the first sign of anything untoward, we have to go to the police.”
I put my arm around her. “Try not to worry, Mam. It might be a false alarm. But I agree, we gotta watch out. Someone like him would stand out a mile in this place. And he hasn’t got the status here he had in Ibiza.”
“That’s true,” she attempts a smile. “It’s helped to share with you.” She pecks me on the cheek. “Glad you had a good time in Madrid.”
“It was… interesting,” I concede. “Parts of it are so old, and other parts incredibly modern.” I decide not to mention Josh’s mishap.
“What are you plans for this week?” she asks, standing.
I square my shoulders. “I’ll need to catch up on some studying, work a couple of shifts at the pub, play some rugby, build up my fitness. Even though it’s the half-term break, the school gym will be open and I’ll do some weight training.”
