“Hey!”
I was stunned by the sudden noise, the language and the English accent.
I turned on my heel and looked the guy up and down. He was now only a few feet away.
“Hey love, guh…great place ain’t it?”
He swayed and slurred as he talked, like a suited and booted Jack Sparrow.
“Yes, it’s great,” I said, trying to sound polite.
I tried to assess how drunk he was and if he might remember me later. I think he tried to give me a flirtatious smile, but his lips fell away at the sides and he stumbled again.
“I ruh… really love it here,” he said, inching closer.
“Yeah,” I agreed and turned on my heel and sprinted all the way back to the hotel. I barely stopped the whole way. I was panting and my chest burned by the time I got in and shut the door behind me, double locking it. I set about rolling up a cigarette, workmanlike, zoning everything else out. Then I grabbed a variety of drinks from the mini bar. I sat out on my terrace, wrapped a cardigan around myself and drank and smoked. I watched passively, almost catatonic, as the sun punched a little further through the dull night sky. Once I was done with it all, exhausted, I dragged myself inside and fell into bed, convinced that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was wrong. But it was a terrible sleep; a dark and unforgiving sleep that swallowed me up and held me down, pinned beneath my bed sheets.
***
I rubbed my eyes, not certain if I had heard a banging or if it had been in my sleep. I rubbed them again.
Bang, bang!
It hadn’t been in my sleep then.
Last night… was it real? It was.
All at once, my senses were overcome – my chest heaved, my head ached, and my stomach churned with the mix of drinks it had been fed before a restless sleep.
Bang, bang!
I threw my legs over the side and hopped down. Everything hurt as I searched for my hotel bath robe. I only had on a t-shirt on and a pair of pants. I located it over a wicker chair and threw it round me, as more of the memories from the night before forced their way into my brain at once. My head felt like it had just listened to Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica over and over on repeat for a couple of days straight. I stumbled over to the door and pulled the handle, as much to force the thoughts away, as to find out who was on the other side.
“Hello, Miss Stark? Police.”
20
Christ knows what my expression was like, because I couldn’t claim to have been much in control of it. I was anything but in control.
“Miss Stark?” she asked again, in a thick Spanish accent.
She was in ordinary clothes – a stylish grey suit, that looked like it could have been tailored by Stella McCartney. She was in her early forties, with jet black tied back hair. She had a slim, yet toned build. Her companion was not any of those things. He was a ‘he’ and wore a blue uniform with a high-vis vest that had ‘Policia Local,’ etched on it. He was only in his early twenties if he was a day out of school, and he was a little chubby.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said eventually, furrowing my brow, “Sorry – I was still asleep,” I said, trying to curl my face into something resembling a smile.
“May we come in?” she asked abruptly, her face stern.
“Yes, yes of course,” I said, keener than was appropriate.
I stepped back and pulled my dressing gown tighter against me.
“Ola,” grunted the man as he awkwardly trundled past me after his boss.
I closed the door and then skipped past them to pick up some of the magazines, make up, assorted clothes and the like that were draped all over the chairs. I shoved them all down the side of the sofa and we all sat down. I sat facing them and the bedroom wall. They sat on the sofa. I felt them both weighing me up, questioning me, as the already bustling Playa Blanca made noise through the window behind me. She straightened out a few wrinkles in her tight trousers with a hand, then moved her knees to the side. Her big brown eyes were not warm and friendly, but piercing. She had a crinkle in her forehead, which made her less attractive. Great makeup though.
“What time is it, sorry?” I asked, putting a hand to my head apologetically.
“Thirty after ten,” said the man.
She looked disapprovingly at him, as if her train of thought had been disturbed. The she turned to me.
“Thank you to you for having us in here, Miss Stark. I am Detective Martina Perez from the Canaria Police and this is my colleague Santiago Ruiz from the local station we have.”
He nodded with a vague smile. Martina Perez remained cool. Her English was good, but her unusual intonation, along with some odd phrasing, unnerved me further.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said. My stomach felt as if it was about to bubble over. I figured that vomiting in front of them wouldn’t make for a good start.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, standing up, purposefully.
“No, thank you much,” she said without any warmth.
“Non, gracias,” said Santiago, raising a hand.
“I’m just going to make myself a coffee – please go on ahead with your questions. Has there been a robbery?” I asked breezily, busying myself with the Nespresso machine.
“No, that is not the issue Miss Stark,” she stated, ‘issue’ sounding like ‘I sue.’
I stirred my cup. More than was necessary.
“I am afraid it is more serious than this.”
My mind noted that ‘this’ sounded like ‘dis,’ almost
