Blood Red

Thirty-five

I chose the second bedroom. It wouldn’t have felt right to have slept in Gerard’s bed. The divan was made up, with a fitted sheet and another, loose, on top, all that was needed there in the summer. Too much, in fact, for I found when I woke at half past six, after about five hours’ sleep, that I’d kicked it off.

I dressed, then tidied up, took the few clothes I had left from my haversack and put them away in a small chest of drawers beside the door. When I was done I took the stuff I had worn on the journey up to the kitchen and put the lot into a washer-dryer that was plumbed in near the sink, with a dishwasher on the other side. I looked in the cupboard between them and found detergent and liquid capsules. There was no manual, but the controls were self-explanatory, the kind that even a man would find easy to work out.

I programmed the machine, and then turned my attention to the fact that I was starving. I could have raided the freezer, but I felt that I’d run up a big enough tab with my benefactor, so I decided to be brave and go out. There was another consideration. . I couldn’t find any booze in the place apart from the San Miguel, and I don’t like San Miguel.

I decided to head down to the Paseo de los Tristes; it had looked friendly, the sort of place where the police wouldn’t need to hang around, so I was sure I could chance it. I had no problem finding it, although I’d reached Goats’ Hill by a circuitous route. All I had to do was head for the Alhambra, and I’d be bound to get there.

The streets in the Albacin are narrow, many of them too narrow for cars, but it’s hardly a maze. Even so, I missed my way, and came out at the foot of a flight of steps, in the middle of the narrow street where I’d played tig with pedestrians, beside a building with a sign that announced an old Arab thermal bathhouse. . a thousand years old, to be approximate. I went inside, on impulse. I’d been to Andalusia before, but not exactly as a tourist, so I’d had few Moorish experiences. The baths aren’t operational any more. . and anyway, I’d just had one. . but the building looked as if it was seeing its second millennium. There were no windows, just star-shaped holes in the roof and walls that provided both light and ventilation. In Scotland, a place like that would be turned into a pub in the wink of an eye.

I didn’t stay long but joined the crowd outside as it weaved its way in the direction that I wanted to go. When I got there, I was lucky; the first two groups of tables I passed were fully occupied, but I managed to find one opposite the third café. It had a French name, but an Italian menu. . that’s Spain for you. I went for cured ham and bread as a starter, then tagliatelle with a pesto sauce, plus a bottle of Chianti, and some still water. From my table I could see that the kitchen was small, so I anticipated that I might have a wait before the food arrived, but the wine came by return, so I wasn’t bothered.

As a bonus, I was sitting in the shadow of the Alhambra. . not literally; the sun was heading west by that time. . being entertained by three buskers with guitars and a very nice way with the works of Lennon and McCartney and Eric Clapton. I felt. . looking back, it’s hard to explain what I felt, but there I was, accused of murder, separated from everyone I loved, yet I was exhilarated, and in that moment, utterly perversely, I was able to be completely honest with myself and to face the truth about myself; that although I had chosen the ideal environment in which to raise my son, I couldn’t just settle for that.

There were things I was missing; I had known excitement in the past, and I had thrived on it, but since Oz’s death I had run away from anything that smelled of personal fulfilment, other than Tom. I’d become diminished, and I knew of someone who would not have approved of that at all. ‘Okay,’ I whispered to him. ‘I’ll find myself again.’ And as a very first step in that process, I knew that I was going to break a promise. But what the hell; it was one that I’d been finding it hard to keep anyway.