My Best Friend Has Issues Page 12

  ‘Eh, yeah, okay then.’

  I wasn’t doing anything else.

  I stood at the Passeig de Gràcia subway entrance waiting for him. Chloe was on the terrace working on her chimney when I left. Perhaps she’d been too engrossed in cement mixing and hadn’t heard me when I’d called ‘ciao’. There was no point in worrying about it.

  The last few weeks I had been really lazy. After our Club Cubana night out we’d both picked up colds, or at least that’s what I’d thought. Chloe said it was the cocaine. The next day both our noses constantly dripped clear thin snot. By seven o’clock in the evening I had to go down to the shops and buy more hankies, we’d used all the toilet roll. It took days to recover.

  During daylight hours, while Chloe beavered away cementing bulges on to the corners of her chimney, I read books and cooled off in the paddling pool. I offered to help and she let me do some boring stuff but when I wanted to arrange the broken tiles and design shapes she pushed me away. The chimney was her thing.

  Sometimes when she got too hot she stripped off and climbed into the pool with me. It was a tight squeeze but it was a laugh. The rest of the time I lay back and stretched out, enjoying the cool of the water and the luxury of having the pool to myself. Once when she was moaning about the heat I teased her.

  ‘Oh Chloe, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s so cool and refreshing in here. Come on in, the water’s lovely.’

  I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see until it was too late that it wasn’t Chloe but Juegita who jumped in beside me, her big tits slapping the water.

  ‘Not you, shithead!’ I screamed in fright.

  Chloe laughed her head off.

  When the sun went down we’d smoke joints and watch DVDs, until it was time for Chloe to phone her mum. On the nights Chloe could reach her, they’d chat and giggle for a while, then we’d smoke some more. We were too tired and too stoned to want to go out.

  ‘Hola!’ said Ewan cheerfully. He’d sneaked up on me and now he was kissing me. With frightening enthusiasm he gripped my arms and kissed both cheeks.

  ‘Right, first stop Casa Batlló. This is the best house in the world.’

  His enthusiasm was catching.

  ‘The outside’s like a curtain at the theatre, see? Can you see the masks on the balconies there? D’you see the harlequin’s hat?’

  I said I thought I could. But then he was talking about bones and the sea floor as the water washed across it. I was trying to keep up but I was confused.

  ‘See the dragon across the top of the roof?’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ I squealed, ‘I can see that!’

  Ewan paid and we went inside. He was right, it was the best house in the world. We were there for hours, Ewan showing me every detail. Sometimes he took my hand and ran it over the soft curves of the plaster walls, the oak doors, the cool ceramic tiles. We went up to the roof to see the chimneys.

  ‘Chloe’s making a chimney. It’s like these but hers is going to be unique. Maybe she’ll become a famous artist in Barcelona too.’

  ‘And maybe not,’ said Ewan dryly.

  When we came out into the busy street and the heat of the afternoon, I nearly fainted. I recognised Ewan’s friend Sanj talking to some tourists and pointed him out to Ewan.

  ‘Que tal, Sanj?’ I asked in my best accent.

  Sanj laughed, ‘Hola Esmerelda!’

  ‘It’s Alison,’ I reminded him.

  Ewan and Sanj laughed their heads off. I smiled tightly until Ewan explained.

  ‘It’s a joke. He’s calling you Esmerelda because of your lovely green eyes.’

  ‘Si, los ojos, que verde! Que guapa!’

  I laughed too, and blushed with the compliment. Sanj was a sensitive guy. Probably to reassure me that he wasn’t laughing at me, he asked Ewan to translate for him as he became more serious, enquiring after my health, specifically my coughing. I was embarrassed to be reminded but it was nice of him to ask.

  ‘We’re going to jump the metro down to Barceloneta. There’s a good sea breeze down there today,’ said Ewan in English. ‘Want to come?’

  Sanj declined, saying he had ‘muchas flores’ to sell. I nodded knowingly, no longer the naïve idiot who had arrived here a few weeks ago. ‘Flowers’ was, no doubt, a euphemism for maria.

  When we got out of the metro, the walls, like walls all over Barcelona, were covered in graffiti. In my neighbourhood, any surface, including shutters and doorways, were spraypainted with intricate original artwork. The paintings were colourful and arresting. New ones would appear overnight. It was always exciting when I went out for bread in the morning, to turn a corner and find a new piece of art. It was like living in an art gallery.

  There were also plenty of messy graffiti scrawls. These annoyed me. As they were written in Catalan or Spanish I couldn’t understand them. As we walked through the apartment blocks in Barceloneta I pointed to them and asked Ewan what they said.

  ‘They’re political. This one says We cannot separate while we continue to have separation of the classes.’

  ‘And this?’

  ‘Catalunya is not Spain.’

  ‘What about this?’

  ‘Yesterday I shit myself on the metro.’

  I laughed.

  ‘No, really,’ said Ewan, but he was laughing too, ‘that’s what it says. It’s a protest against the lack of toilets in the metro.’

  When we got to the beach there was a fresh breeze and as we stood on the elevated promenade I lifted my face and let it blow over me.

  ‘It’s a shame we don’t have our swimmies, we could have gone for a swim,’ I said.

  ‘Could we fuck,’ said Ewan sourly, ‘the water’s manky. God knows what coal dust and radioactive muck comes down the coast from Badalona and beyond, not to mention the raw sewage.’

  ‘Sewage? You’re kidding me.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he insisted. ‘I saw a big jobby floating by here this morning. Let’s just say that in Barceloneta you don’t swim, you just go through the motions.’

  ‘Yeesh, that’s disgusting.’

  ‘Disgusting, but true.’

  ‘But there’s loads of people swimming. The beach is mobbed. You can hardly see the sand for all the bodies.’

  ‘Tourists,’ he sneered. ‘C’mon, I’ll show you the fish.’

  I didn’t really want to see them. I pictured monstrously irradiated fish living on a diet of poo and sanitary towels, but that wasn’t what he meant. Further along the beach there was a huge sculpture of a goldfish, several stories high, its metal scales glittering and dazzling.

  ‘It’s fabulous,’ I laughed.

  Everything was surprising about Barcelona.

  We made our way back into Barceloneta and went for a coffee in Bar Electricitat, a wee bar on the edge of the square, full of old men who randomly burst into song, and drank brandy and tiny cups of coffee. Ewan bought me a huge baguette sandwich and watched me eat it, all the while asking me questions about Chloe. Where was she from, how old was she, what did she do? I didn’t give him much, I hadn’t come to talk about Chloe.

  When I finished my sandwich Ewan shuffled his feet and made to leave.

  ‘Anyway, thanks for that, it was fun. I’ll need to get moving, I’ve got castellers practise in an hour.’

  ‘What’s castellers?’ I asked.

  I could tell by the way he said it, sticking his chest out with a kind of old soldier dignity, that he was proud. It couldn’t be the Spanish civil war, that was years ago. Maybe it was the coastguard or fire brigade, something brave and life saving.

  ‘We make human castles.’

  That wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting.

  ‘Like acrobats but better. Much taller. We make towers nine stories high, standing on each other’s shoulders.’

  Now I understood what he meant. I’d seen pictures of the high shaky mounds of people in my guidebook, grasping at each other’s shirts fifty feet in the air.

  ‘But isn’t that just fo
r local people?’

  ‘I am local people,’ he said, offended. ‘I’m a longstanding member of the colle. Catalan is a state of being.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘We have the Ascent of the Virgin Mary in La Bisbal del Penedès on the fifteenth of August, and Sant Felix in Vilafranca on the thirtieth. Then it’s non-stop until the Merce in September. I haven’t any holidays left so I’ve had to switch shifts so I’m available during the day to practise.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re going to be busy.’

  ‘Yep,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘You should come and see us.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I will,’ I said.

  I was scared of heights, even watching other people climb made me feel sick.

  ‘How high up d’you go?’

  ‘Me, not very high. I’m in the tronc, the weans do the high up stuff, seventy feet or more.

  ‘Whoa, in the Nauld the social workers would be after you if you made your weans climb seventy feet.’

  ‘This is Catalunya,’ he said, all snooty, ‘it’s a wee bit different.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  He was such an arse.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’d better shoot, I’m going to be late.’

  He kissed me again, again on both cheeks. I miscalculated which cheek he was going for and we had a near miss, our lips nearly colliding.

  *

  When I got back Chloe was in a funny mood. I’d stopped off and bought a bottle of orange juice for her, the kind she liked, freshly squeezed from the machine. She thanked me but otherwise she hardly said a word.

  ‘Ewan took me to Casa Batlló,’ I told her, trying to make conversation. ‘It was pretty cool. I saw the chimneys but they’re not as good as yours is going to be.’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘Ewan was telling me he’s a casteller, you know, where they climb up on each other’s shoulders and make a big tower. He thinks he’s Catalan, chuh, that guy is such an arse.’

  ‘Well you’re the one who sucked him off,’ she said. ‘I’m going to take a bath.’

  Chloe was in the bath for two hours. When I heard her bashing about in the bedroom I went in.

  ‘I’m looking for underwear but I can’t find it. I thought I’d put the box in one of those drawers. Have you seen it?’ she asked me.

  ‘No, sorry. What does it look like?’

  ‘Oh, you know, bra and panties, white lace, Victoria’s Secret. My mom sent them from the States, I’ve never worn them, they haven’t been out the box.’

  ‘Sorry, there’s loads of clean underwear on the chair. I washed everything yesterday. You can pick something out of there.’

  ‘Well, if you see them anywhere be sure to let me know, will you? My mom’ll go nuts if I can’t find them.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I said.

  Chapter 23

  Chloe was always giving me stuff: clothes, handbags, whatever. I never asked for any of it. I only had to say once that I liked something and she gave me it. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was embarrassing.

  Every day Chloe’s dad would phone and every night she’d phone her mum. Chloe would try for ages to get through, though often her calls went unanswered. Other times her mum would answer first time. When she hung up she’d tell me again how much she missed her mom. Her dad phoned every day. The conversation was fairly standard, Chloe being sneery and snarly with him. I didn’t know why he bothered. Unless she wanted money, she dismissed him quickly.

  I would always hang around and listen to her curt replies. It thrilled me to hear her be so rude to him. Knowing I was listening encouraged her to be even more rude. One day I was in the kitchen making lunch when I heard her say,

  ‘Dad, I told you, Alison is my friend.’

  My ears pricked up at this.

  What was he saying about me? Had she told him how much stuff she’d given me?

  ‘No, Dad, I came here to get away from my American friends,’ she said. And then, ‘Because I don’t like ‘em!’ she yelled down the phone.

  It was true; she seemed to despise other Americans. Anytime we met Americans in a bar Chloe quickly blew them off, even when they were gorgeous boys. I wanted to meet them. It was nice to meet boys that I could actually speak to for a change, instead of always hitting on South American immigrants. But Chloe had nothing but disdain for her fellow Americans. Trustifarians she called them, rich kids partying their way through Europe before going back to the States for college, she said.

  As I was tossing the salad I heard my name mentioned again.

  ‘Alison doesn’t want to, she told me already.’

  I stood by, expecting Chloe to ask me to corroborate whatever story she was telling him but she met my eyes and smiled mischievously. I returned her naughty smile; whatever she was up to sounded fun. And then she said, ‘It just wouldn’t be fair. Because she’s educationally subnormal.’

  My smile collapsed.

  ‘I didn’t tell you because you didn’t ask. Daddy, I have to go now, I have to go help Alison put her socks on. Kisses, kisses, bye, bye, bye, bye.’ And she put the phone down.

  Chloe giggled and returned to innocently flicking through a magazine.

  ‘Who’s educationally subnormal?’

  I couldn’t keep the angry edge out of my voice.

  ‘You are, apparently,’ she said, without even lifting her head.

  ‘D’you want to tell me what just happened?’

  ‘Oh Alison, get over yourself.’

  It was true, I was slightly embarrassed by the way I’d come over all parental.

  ‘Chloe, tell me, please.’

  Eventually she sighed and relented.

  ‘Aged P has signed me up for college. Berkeley. I told him I won’t go. I’ve told him a gazillion times, I’m going to art school in Paris. Now he’s trying to bribe me, saying if I go to Berkeley he’ll pay for you to come too. He’s so pathetic.’

  My heart started to beat faster and I’m sure my face went red. Going to college in California?

  Dear Lisa and Lauren, I have grown tired of Europe. Off to start my pre-med degree at Berkeley University in California. My heiress friend Chloe and I are roomies in a sorority house. We go to beach parties and drive-in movies and hang out with frat boys. I‘ve had my teeth bleached. Look me up if you’re ever Stateside, perhaps I can find you work as illegal nannies. Yours, Dr Alison Donaldson MD

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of studying for a degree,’ I told her. ‘I already have one from Cumbernauld College.’

  ‘Good for you. I didn’t even get my SATs.’

  ‘I’m not subnormal.’

  ‘I know that! I only said that to get him off my case.’

  ‘Yes, but now your dad thinks I’m…’

  ‘What does it matter what he thinks? You’re never gonna have to meet him anyway.’

  ‘I am if we go to Berkeley.’

  ‘That’s not gonna happen.’

  ‘Well, why not? We’re not doing anything else. You could still do your art.’

  ‘Fugeddaboutit.’

  ‘I’m just saying…’

  ‘Not gonna happen,’ said Chloe, snapping her magazine.

  But I couldn’t fugeddaboutit. A girl like me from Cumbernauld didn’t get chances like this every day. Chloe just needed persuading. For one thing she’d be closer to her mom, and we wouldn’t have to hang out with any Americans if she didn’t want to. We could do pretty much the same as we’d been doing here in Barcelona: lounging around the flat, taking drugs and picking up boys. If she didn’t want to study, I certainly wouldn’t nag her.

  But there was no rush, I knew how pig-headed she could get. I had the rest of the summer to work on her.

  Chapter 24

  The next time Chloe’s dad called I picked it up. We were watching a movie and Chloe couldn’t be bothered to lean forward and lift her phone. It was, as usual, left to me to pick it up and hand it to her. I saw it was her dad and answered it. She jumpe
d up quick enough then and tried to grab the phone out of my hand, both of us giggling as we scuffled. Even when I’d answered she tried to silently prise the phone out of my hand, bending my fingers painfully, but I held tight.

  ‘Yes, hello, Mr Taylor,’ I said, stifling my laughter as I noiselessly fought her off.

  ‘Hi, may I speak with Chloe, please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Chloe’s indisposed at the minute. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Am I speaking with Alison?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Taylor, it’s me.’

  ‘Hi Alison, and please, call me Philip.’

  I would have liked to have been allowed to call him Aged P, but Philip would have to do.

  ‘Oh, okay, thank you. Chloe’s in the bath, do you want me to…’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ he said hurriedly. ‘She sure likes to soak in the tub, doesn’t she?’

  Chloe was bored wrestling me. She had given up and was now listlessly picking toe jam from between her toes.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I agreed, ‘she’s very enthusiastic about personal hygiene.’

  I had to bite my cheeks not to laugh.

  ‘Uh huh, it’s about the only thing.’

  I chuckled. Philip chuckled too. We enjoyed a pleasant few moments before his laughter died away.

  ‘Er, Philip, you know the other day when Chloe said I was educationally subnormal?’

  ‘Oh, I knew she was kidding,’ he laughed. ‘She’s a kidder. For some reason Chloe won’t go to college like any normal kid. She wants to paint chimneys or whatever it is she does. I don’t know, maybe you can convince her.’

  He didn’t say it like a request but I responded as if it was.

  ‘I’ll do what I can to help, Philip.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, sounding surprised, ‘I’d surely appreciate it, Alison. She talks about you all the time.’

  When I put the phone down I knew Chloe was dying to know what he’d said, but she was never going to ask.

  *

  Philip and I understood each other. He was nice, I could talk to him. Not like my own dad, he never talked about anything. I don’t remember having conversations with my dad. What would we have talked about? One week in four we lived in the same house but otherwise we were strangers.